


Trappings of An Acolyte: Book 1

by Marsevees Black (Dunblak_Vizgoth)



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: "Woodles", Adeptus Ministorum, BDSM, Chaos Space Marine(s), Ecclesiarchy, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grimdark, Imperial Guardsmen (Adeptus Militarum), M/M, Multi, Murder, Mutation(s), Officio Inquisition (Imperial Inquisition), Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ruinous Powers, Sisters of Battle (Adepta Sororitas), Space Marine(s) (Adeptus Astartes), Suicide, Torture, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 08:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunblak_Vizgoth/pseuds/Marsevees%20Black
Summary: The story of a mortal imperium (imperial guardsman-Astra Militarum) soldier’s submission into the worship of the chaos god Slaanesh and his eventual rise to the status of demon prince.





	1. Plea

**Author's Note:**

> This is Vizgoth.  
> I'm writing this because Game Workshops is going into the 'End Times' and is likely to screw with something. As such I wanted to give my two cents before the whole thing goes bonk. Also because there's not enough fluff type writing of Slaanesh stuff. It has more than a few errors, both grammatical and phonetic so don't expect too much. I'll add tags as I go or as I think of them. Truthfully, I don't know if I'm going to be doing any more of this series because of Me'n Dunblak's work on 'Stranger Rainy Days' and the 'Pokemon Year One'. Not to mention the other projects and work. But if I get around to it I will.  
> I don't own anything from Game Workshops or anything of the Warhammer franchise.  
> This is R+ or even X-rated. If you're 17 and under don't read this. You have been warned and disclaimed.

Chapter 1: plea

 

**I do not have many memories of before. That moment I chose to become what I am. But the ones that I do have, are explicit. A putrid father who hated me, a mother who whored herself out to earn money for our household, a black ship full of dead brothers and sisters whose unborn cries haunted my mother every night. And the thought. That one tiny thought that crawled into my mind as a child. ‘If the emperor of mankind is so great how are the forces that oppose him seem to be winning? Why do bad things keep happening even when we are here in the Imperium?’ It was as fleeting as it was dangerous. At the time I remember sweeping it aside like unwanted dust. But I forgot to throw it out. And so the thought lingered.**

**Then I could not have known what true beasts and monsters oppose the Imperium of mankind. How futile their religious bowings to the dying Emperor are. Pathetic and tragic. Such a beautiful song of pain. So bittersweet it makes one wish to vomit.**

 

 

995.M41

“Get out yew stupid brat! Go get some money!”

The anemic youth scampered into the fumed alley as quickly as his thin legs could carry him, stumbling into small mounds of trash along the way. He began his long journey through the hive city, the day to day routine that kept him and his family just above death. If only by a single thread.

All around buildings where stacked upon one another, squeezing together to provide the miserable inhabitants at least the luxury of living space. Bright signs flickered and speakers whined. Occasionally the voice of a Chaplin could be heard over speakers, giving a sermon from the divine teachings of the Emperor of Mankind.

The Emperor protects. The Emperor preserves. The Emperor saves.

The boy frowned, he had never seen it. Brat had never seen the Emperor, let alone heard his voice. A voice that was said to be divine. Voice of the god of Mankind. But then again, what god could men make? Father would make god of liberties, freeing himself of all worry and strife. Mother would make god of happiness and equality, sacrificing her own lifeblood to cure the ills of her family. Brat was little different. He was selfish. He wanted for other things. But for the moment he could not think of them. For now, he wanted mother to live another day.

Brat moved like a cat through the streets, his eyes keen and his ears always open. The mangy locks of blond hair gave him the look of a rabid feline. His blue-grey eyes sharp as a predator’s. Survival was his life, his purpose. Mother was counting on him.

The boy named Brat moved along a route beginning he had designated C. Each day he took a different route beginning and wound his way through the maze of constructed steel. Then at the end of the day he would return through a different beginning. Maintaining a constant flux of travel to make sure he would not be ambushed. For if he did, he would not survive. That would be death for mother and Brat.

Since he was born, Brat knew no other name. Occasionally father would say something like cur or whelp. Brat assumed these were names to make him do better. Or a threat. Or an insult. But probably the later of the three.

Despite his wild look and animalistic behavior, Brat was cunning. Smart like a rat that knew where to get the best food, when it was dangerous in an area, when to move on, when to hide, and when to strike. Since father made no attempt to educate him and mother was to weak, Brat taught himself. Now in his sixth year, he could read and write. Learning quickly to mimicking signs and interpreting how people spoke about them Brat had gained understanding of his own language. It was not perfect, but it more than compensated.

He smirked to himself with a little pride as he stealthily moved through the shadows. Brat would collect food and money. Steal if he had to, and bring it back to mother. Mother would live tomorrow. Brat would make sure of it.

Yet when he reached home, his pockets full of goods, the will of men robbed him of that small reassurance. Brat’s father lay on the ground, a few bruises on him but otherwise untouched. He seemed to be droning on in one of those fleet songs he always sang, alcohol thickly slurring his speech. Glowing red and yellow light consumed his former dwelling. Brat could not tell if the screams he heard were the wails of his mother crying in agony or the shriek of the flames as they purged the hovel construct of a hive dwelling.

Imperial Guards watched as they spoke their dogma. The foremost amongst them a Confessor who blessed the house and was casting out the diseased plague. In the mind of the Imperial soldiers they were doing a service to the hive. Purging the sick woman from the rest of the inhabitants saved the city from an outbreak. But that did not matter to Brat. To him, they had set fire to his mother and burned her as if she was some heretic. Exactly like a heretic.

Rage filled the small body as he lashed out at the guardsmen, not entirely intending to do harm so much as display for them the pain they had caused him. Jumping on one’s back, Brat yanked at the man’s ears and tore the left one off entirely. Before any of them could reach the nimble child he leaped off his foe and was biting another leg. Hoots and growls of pain filled the small confines of the alley, echoed with the fading sound of burning material.

“What is this?” An authoritative voice boomed from behind them and a captain stepped from the shadows, his grim face like stone. “Have the Emperor’s soldiers come across an enemy they cannot defeat?”

The guardsmen snapped to attention and saluted the captain. “Sorry sir! It won’t happen again sir!”

“I would presume not.” The grizzled captain mused as he glanced at the boy.

The child was no more than six years of age by his count, scrawny and bony. But full of fire and there glinted in his eyes keen cunning. Hidden behind those emaciated sharp features was a survivor, the captain felt it in his bones. Taking a few steps to where the child crouched, the captain knelt before Brat.

“Is that your pa?” A gloved hand gestured to the inebriated father.

Brat nodded.

“And your ma?”

Blue-grey eyes turned to look back at the flickered flames, the fire reflected in shimmering mirrors.

“I see.” The captain sighed and bowed his head. “Well, as it is there is little you can do now.”

The six-year nodded in agreement and stayed silent, content to listen or at least accept his death at the hands of these men. At least then he would join mother quickly.

Suddenly standing up the captain pointed to one of the guardsmen. “You! Take the boy, there should be a Schola Progenium somewhere in this damn heap. Take him there.”

“B-but sir, won’t he wander somewhere on his own? It’s not exactly our problem sir.”

The captain leaned in close to the soldier so his deep-set eyes were evident and their faces nearly touched. “Did I stutter guardsman?”

Brat watched in confusion as the guardsman shook in his boots. “n-n-n-No-no Sir.”

“Then you know what my commands are. Take him to the Schola Progenium. And don’t show your face around the barracks until you do!” The captain spun on his heal and exited. Brat only caught a glimpse of the name on his shirt. It read, Cpt. Samuel Mikael Garret.

“C’mon then!” The guardsman hauled Brat up by his neck. “I haven’t got a cycle to waste kid.”

And so it was. Brat and the guardsman traversed the narrow alleys. Up through the more civilized parts of the hive city they went, elevators and stairs assisting their ascent until they had arrived before the Schola Progenium. There Brat would spend the next four years training and learning. Growing into a clever student. His body grew into lean muscle as his malnourished form was given sustenance and care. Brat’s body took on an almost graceful form, sculpted curves layered in smooth flowing muscle. And his mind never ceased learning. Then on his tenth year the Imperial Guardsmen, or the Astra Militarum, came knocking. Archivers and book keepers had made note of Captain Garret’s investment in the boy named Brat and saw him as a worthy tool of the Imperium to fight the forces of chaos.

 

**How little I knew then. A weak child, albeit resourceful, who questioned why the Imperium of Mankind slaved thousands to its will. Why they sent them to unknown places. Why they never came back. But my questions were soon answered.**

**Perhaps it was fate that led me through my service in the Astra Militarum, perhaps it was Tzeentch and his cunning plans that guided others to forge my fate. However, I humbly believe that it was my one guiding light that led me here. To this palace of everything and nothing.**

 

001.M42

Even stubble failed to grow on Brat’s face. His sharp features remaining barren of manly qualities. Not that it mattered. Less hair was a boon in conflicting environs and he had not even grown into full manhood.

As his first deployment with the Imperial Guard, Brat was sent to the Babab Sector in the Ultima Segemntum with a small fleet of ships. The planets were mostly habitable, if not hostile, and the young man fought alongside the Tallarn Desert Raider regiment as well as other famous Imperial Guard regiments for a time, learning quickly all languages and mannerisms he saw. Soon he could walk about and act as one of the locals. The Desert Raiders called him “Wander Child” for he was still only 12 years of age and he could wander through a settlement as if he lived there.

From the war torn sub-system he was dispatched with dozens of others across several systems. Each a different battle and nature. But all the same. Some died, Brat lived. The youth was plunged through fire and blood as the battlefields soaked into his spirit. And little by little, he felt parts of him that he could still call human die in the silence. Good men and bad men fell alike. Civilians were protected but were not the priority. It was always kill the heretics. Kill the mutants. Kill the traitors. Kill the xenos. Kill the deserters. No life ever flickered before Brat’s eyes. All was death. Even when he saw the fabled Adepta Sororitas, valiant women who put aside their lives that could be lived in relative peace to fight, Brat knew they would die. The youth watched as they were killed as any other soldier of the Imperium. Those that lived wailed and sang prayers to the Emperor to watch over their beloved sisters. Brat also offered a prayer, but knew it would do little good. Then the Guardsmen and Sororitas would attack the enemy lines with vengeance and justice on the lips of the warriors. Even the fabled Adeptus Astartes fell in battle. The great warriors of the Imperium laid low by hubris and justice. The irony of it made Brat sick. An endless circle of blood. Coiling around minds and hearts like a snake, with the great Imperium of Man supporting it from Terra.

The violence and dogma of Imperial warfare became imbedded in his mind. It stung and burned as he fellows were cut down. Commissars would rage and wave their pointy swords around them. Propaganda would spew like puss from their mouths. A friend of his, an older soldier who had once been a part of the suicide bomb squads would always mutter as they went into battle “You will die when assaulting a fortress with a competent commander. You must strive to make your death useful”. At night, the priests would preach away their sins, seeking to allay their ills by reading from the Imperial books. By day his fellows would fall in battle with prayers on their lips. And the ever hopeful promise that the Emperor protects.

And the god-Emperor of Mankind never did.

They were alone on the battlefield with nothing to gain except survival to the next day of conflict. And Brat survived. Ork invaders were repelled, Eldar raiders turned back, Chaos cultists ambushed and slaughtered, Tau massacred at the whim of his ever calculating mind, and savage men ensnared in the hive child’s cunning traps. It was not long before he caught the eye of the General Staff. To have lived as long and accomplished so much, even at such a young age. An individual such as that must be rewarded. With a transfer.

Uprooted from the war wastes of the Vidar Sector, Brat was sent with a new batch of troops through the Warp to the jungle planet of Catachan in the Ultima Segemntum. Perhaps there he would be of used. With his survival skills, the General Staff reasoned the hive whelp would be a valuable addition to the Catachan Jungle Fighters regiment. The dead world would either make him a valuable soldier or a dead one.

Unfortunately, his ship, the Imperial frigate named _Empirical Yearning,_ never made terra firma. Khorne raiders and Dark Eldar slavers converged in the skies above the jungle planet. And the frigate was caught in the middle. Brat and a few of the other guardsmen, men older than himself that cried like babies terrified of nightmares, managed to fly a rickety troop transport down to the surface. Around them the metal groaned and shrieked. Chaos and Eldar fighters blasted by, unleashing unholy fury on one another. Grown men bawled and screamed around Brat as the young man merely waited. If death would come it would be swift, if not then he would find a way to survive. He did not waste his breath on prayers to the Emperor. Such things were of no used to him. Brat had already hardened his heart against the one who had given the young Imperial Guardsman nothing but grief.

Their miracle worker of a pilot managed to make a half-landing as the vessel crashed into the jungle landscape. It’s construction instantly breaking apart and corroding in the morass they had landed in. Brat fled the vehicle only after making sure the pilot could not be saved and most of the other soldiers had left. The poor man who attempted to get them safely to the ground had given his life for them, a large branch had pierced the cracked screen and embedded into the pilot’s seat where his head once was.

Only then did Brat say a prayer, not to the Emperor but for his comrade in arms. A real man whom Brat could touch and speak with. Who had given his life for Brat’s.

“Where the fuck did those fuckin’ pointy ears come from? And those traitor marines?” A panicked voice nearly yelled outside the transport, echoing into the hollow shell of a vessel.

Brat frowned. Guardsmen weren’t given specifics of who and where anything came from. If one lived long enough they might begin to pick up on where things came from and what they were. He was fortunate enough to have stolen documents from dead commissars and commanders when he had the chance. After memorizing their contents as hastily as possible, he would burn them. Always the survivor Brat planned on living for a while more and wanted to know his enemies when he faced them. Inside the Segemntum Solar there was little chance of chaos attacking Imperial forces. Most tides that came from the Maelstrom and the Eye of Terror were turned back by the Adeptus Astartes or the legions of Imperial Guards that were stationed between then and the Warp tears. But the forces of Eldar and Chaos had gotten through by some happenstance. Or plot.

The youth shook his head as he clutched his laser rifle and headed to the open back of the troop ship. It would not do to wander in fantasy when reality needed addressing. Although he had fought Eldar before, Chaos marines were new to him. He knew of the four Chaos gods, Tzeentch the Changer of Ways, Nurgle the Plague Lord, Khorne the Blood god, and Slaanesh the Prince of Pleasure. According to the texts he had read each was a personification of darkness, unholy things birthed within the Warp. Seeded by the sins of all that is unholy and the pagan xenos races, they sought to eradicate mankind with every lasting breath. But then how different were they from the Emperor who sent his forces out to be slaughtered in this seemingly unending war?

“SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!” A roar echoed among the trees and resounded throughout the little clearing.

Brat sprang out of the wreckage to find all of the other Guardsmen had scattered. _It just had to be Khorne didn’t it? Couldn’t have been Tzeentch or Slaanesh, no. Just had to be Khorne._ He frowned as he quickly sloshed through the waist deep mire and onto the tree-rooted shore. _At least it’s not Nurgle and his damn plagues._

The thought of falling ill to one of the innumerable diseases carried by those who worshiped the Plague Lord sped his legs as the young man sprinted through the forest, shedding most of his gear as he went. Being overburdened was less comforting than being prepared. Brat slung his las-rifle over his shoulder and quickly climbed a tree that looked suitable for a temporary nest.

Climbing to the topmost branches, Brat overlooked how the battle went. From what he could tell the Dark Eldar were being driven to the surface by the Khornites, their nimble ships being pressed closer and closer to the ground until they were forced to land. From there the ground assault was beginning, the bloodthirsty Chaos marines bellowing their war cries as the shrieks of the Dark Eldar answered them in return.

 _Where to go now?_ Brat mused to himself as he scanned the horizon. _Might as well join them in hell. Fight to the foreseeable end. If I get caught sneaking out the Commissars will brand me a traitor and xenos lover. Win-win for me I guess._

There was a flicker at the edge of his vision and Brat’s arm snapped up, grabbing ahold of the striking Coiling Death Cobra before it’s fangs could touch his flesh. “Sorry to disappoint.” He murmured without looking as he snapped the serpent’s neck and tossed the corpse aside.

Brat climbed down the tree and with rifle clutched in hand made his way through shadow and wood.

He did not have to go far before the bellows of a Khornite and cries of agony filled the air. The young guardsman moved like an animal, creeping through the undergrowth with the barest of sounds. A skill he had honed over years of persecution and constant danger.

In a small, shaded clearing a Khorne berserker was in the midst of decapitating the last of Brat’s small squad. The red armored behemoth stood eight feet tall and covered in spikes. Smoke and flames seemed to gush from his mouth. On his shoulders were the collected skulls of his kills. Prizes for his god.

A small thought dripped into the young Guardsman’s mind as to which Chaos god he would choose if he had to pick one. The twelve-year-old dismissed the idea and focused on the corrupted space marine. He would have preferred a more solid environment to impede his opponent’s attacks but the woods would do fine. Brat looked around quickly and spotted exactly what he needed.

With a grim smile on his face Brat made his way around the clearing until he was positioned to the Khornite’s left, a side the former space marine seemed to favor. Making sure he was at equal distance between his target and the intended destination, Brat took a deep breath.

“Dicks for the Ass Throne!” His adolescent voice hollered from his crouched position. _Eh, sounded better in my head._

However, the insult had the intended effect. The Chaos marine zeroed in on the source of the outburst and charged the impudent fool who dared insult the mighty Khorne. His chain sword buzzed as he slashed through tree and undergrowth alike. As the hulk of living armor bulled towards him, Brat stepped back.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

 _Now._ Just as the angered Khornite was about to swing a charging blow Brat leaped and rolled beneath the huge warrior. The Chaos marine sidestepped to halt the motion of his charge but failed to take notice of his surroundings. In an instant he was besieged by dozens of carnivorous plant heads, each dripping with venom and hungry for flesh.

Brat skittered back into the undergrowth, waiting for either of the two survive the encounter as he lay in waiting. To his credit the blood warrior put up a valiant fight, his chain sword cutting through the heads of the plant and dismembering most of his floral foe. But Brat had chosen his trap well. When the plant and marine seemed to cease their struggle a bed of snakes lashed out from a concealed pit in the ground. The ruckus had disturbed them from their rest and they responded in kind. Poisoned fangs pierced fabric where armor did not entirely cover and soon the Khornite was tearing slithering snakes from him with his power gloved hands.

Unsurprisingly, the Chaos marine outlasted the swarming serpents. Though Brat was admittedly disappointed he expected as much from a worshiper of Khorne. A person who would revel in battle and death alone. Fighting was in the corrupted marine’s spirit and would not easily relinquish. Bellows of smoke bloomed from the red helmet as the Khornite seemed to catch his breath.

 _Huh. Poison works after all_. Brat thought to himself, worming his way around the marine to face the large back. _At least as a stopper that is. Have to think of something more potent next time._

Before he could more an inch further, his instincts told him to freeze. Brat locked himself in position, daring not to breathe and holding himself as close to the ground as possible. Two black clad banshees shrieked over his prone form and beset upon the injured Chaos marine.

As the Dark Eldar slashed and sliced with their curved venom swords, Brat looked on in morbid fascination from his hiding place as the intimate dance of agony played out before his eyes. The Dark Eldar would cut into the enraged space marine and nimbly dodge his strikes. Each blow was calculated to deal the maximum amount of pain with the least amount of damage to the sufferer’s body. On and on it went like this, slicing, cutting, until the Khornite’s body was infused with so much poison it was on the edge of giving up. With a final howl of frustration, the dying marine grabbed the nearest of the two Dark Eldar and wrapped his opponent in a spiked death embrace. From his position, Brat could hear the Dark Eldar’s armor crack and bones underneath. The xenos warrior writhed for a few heartbeats before the Chaos marine tore the Dark Eldar’s head and spine from its body.

The dying Khornite bellowed one final cry. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD G-”

In a flash the remaining Dark Eldar warrior decapitated the Chaos marine. Brat looked on as the Dark Eldar removed its own helmet to reveal the sharp features of a woman. Long auburn hair and dark blue eyes adorned her pail skin. Upon her neck was tattooed the arrowed wheel of chaos and the image of a swirling eye below her bottom lip. A symbol of the Yme-loc Eldar craft world branded into her forehead. The female spat on the Khornite’s carcass before pillaging his body. She expertly collected blood from the body as well as several other fluids. With her knife she carved out several organs and stashed them in a box pouch of sorts that seemed to be intended to preserve the remains.

Having finished with the dead opponent the female Dark Eldar moved on to her companion. She tisked at the headless sight of her former comrade and began doing the same to the Dark Eldar corpse.

Brat began to understand that this was a matter of ritual for the woman. A collection of things essential for her further survival in the Dark Eldar society as well as her personal way of honoring or dishonoring her opponents.

After each item she needed was gathered, the female Dark Eldar took up her prizes, performed a small chant, and then left. Leaving the young Guardsman alone with the still armed, decapitated corpses.

Trudging back into the clearing, Brat went about digging graves in the clayed dirt the best he could. A few hours after sundown he laid the last of his fallen comrades to rest and covered them with soil. It was not much, but it would have to do for now.

As he looked from the graves to the two dead warriors Brat frowned. _Where is the Emperor and the Imperium now? Have those damn Commissars and nobles robbed this planet of reinforcements?_ The young man, not yet eighteen years old, gazed up at the stars. _If the Emperor of Mankind is so great, why do the forces that oppose us seem to be winning?_

Brat sighed as he tried to keep his eyes open. But to no avail and soon he was overtaken by sleep. In his dreams he returned to his home in the hive.

\-----

Arriving a conquering warrior, he was given welcome and honor for his conquests. But he refused them. Relief and comfort were offered to him. But he refused them. His brilliance and intelligence were finally recognized and he was promoted into the halls of generals. But he refused them. Silently like an animal he crept back into those dark alleys of the lower quarters. Back to that burnt-out hovel he had once called home. From there he tracked the scent of his prey to a small shack of a pub. He waited patiently and saw his prey stumble out of the glowing den of liberations just like he always did. The man threw up in the alley and the young man crawled up behind him. In an instant he had a knife in the man’s leg and another in his arm. Twisting, tearing at flesh and muscle. It was only him and the man now as he laughed with glee, slashing into the man like the Dark Eldar had. Biting into the places that brought pain but never relinquishing this morbid pleasure to ending death. At least not yet.

He flayed the skin off the man’s torso, severed the man’s legs off and cauterized the wounds. He removed his organs one by one until only the essential ones remained. With one eye gone, the man looked on in horror as the young man reached under his exposed ribcage to grasp the heart that beat faintly. With one last plea, the man reached up to the youth with bleeding fingers.

“Please my son! Have merc-AUUGGGHHH!” The man seized up as his heart was crushed inside his chest and stilled for the last time.

“Goodbye father.” Brat kissed the bloodied lips of his sire before leaving the corpse in the alleyway with a smile on his face.

\-----

Awakened by the strange dream, Brat found himself cloaked in night with the pattering of rain all around him. Faintly he could see flashes and hear screams from the forest just beyond the clearing. Red bandanas were illuminated by incandescent discharges of las-rifles. The shots skittered and bounced off red clad monstrosities that bulled into their ranks.

Seizing up his own las-rifle Brat took aim at the Chaos marines and fired. Few of his shots struck but from his position it was impossible to get an accurate bead in any case. When he moved to get into a better position, a bolter round from the bandana group thudded into the tree where his head had been a moment before. The young Guardsman leapt into the undergrowth and scrambled to get behind the tree as more shots pummeled his position. As he was about to call out to them a wayward grenade sailed through the air and exploded on the opposite side of the tree.

The ground shook as Brat was knocked off his feet and cast into the forest. From his sundered position the pain-wracked Guardsman screamed in anger. Both at the false protecting Emperor and at his fellow Guardsmen. His wailing protest against the universe only drew more attention to his position and more grenades. The ground upheaved and shook all around Brat. Covered by dirt and smoldering plants, he lay unconscious until dawn.

By the time he awoke the fighting had passed. Corpses littered the cut forest. Scars of violence marred the elegant trunks of the trees. Blood seeped into the ground where divots had been carved or forced open. It was a useless nightmare that the original dreamers never seemed to wake up from. This endless war of the fortieth millennium of man.

 _Truly,_ Brat thought to himself as he surveyed the corpses of the Catachan Jungle Regiment. _The Emperor has failed to stand against this tide. So he sends his expendable tools to wage constant battle against forces his Chaplin’s proclaim as evil. Leaving his proud soldiers to die in the mud like worms beneath the feet of gods._

Looking up at the rising sun Brat shook his head. “If this is what it means to be an Imperial then I do not want it.”

 _But where would I turn? I have no home. They will kill me for deserting. Brand me a traitor and force words that are not mine out of my mouth._ The young man pushed a hand through his long golden-yellow locks. _Maybe. Yes. That is what I must do._

With resolution in his heart Brat stared into the open sky. _Fuck the Commissars. Fuck the Imperium. Fuck the Emperor. Fuck all those tea-bagging, shit-eating motherfuckers. I’m not going to be their little bitch any longer. They can kiss my white ass for all I care. As long as I can mess their stuff up I don’t give a flying space fuck._

The youth gave a mournful smile as his eyes met earth again. “I’m sorry mother.” He whispered in a quivering voice. “It looks like I won’t be able to see your smile again.”

Brat turned to his attention to the shattered bodies that were gathering insects. Of all the texts he had read, none of them had described how to make contact with the Warp. Just a tangle of references to blood sacrifices and pagan rituals that were purged on the outer worlds. As with everything else that the Imperium of Man considered ‘dangerous’.

He needed something to invoke a message to his future superior. Something to gain recognition. Something. . . .

 _Ah._ A wicked smile easily sliced across his thin cupid-bow lips. _I could do that._

 

In the middle of the night, in the fortress of the Catachan natives a shadow whisked through the dark. The demon of dark laid his traps and hideous machinations in place, careful to make sure they did not back fire on him. As the sun began to dawn the intruder shrank away with the fading shadows with a devious grin upon his face.

By the time the screams had reached the guards it was already too late. Those within the compound had already breathed the acidic air and the fumes were slowly eating away at their lungs. Others found themselves in less fortunate circumstances, bound hand and food on a bed of snakes. The guard realized they had been bested as the carnivorous man-eaters, spikers, and brainleaf plants grew around the walls and buildings. It took less than a day for the population to slowly succumb to the torturous fate designed by the anonymous shadow. Those that lived long enough away from the snakes and flora were forced into a slow death by acidic air.

One lone survivor, crippled by wounds he received from the man-eaters, managed to escape the deathtrap. He wandered for days, avoiding the Chaos patrols and the calls of wild animals. The man neither slept nor ate and on his third day of short lived freedom he stumbled into a Dark Eldar encampment all but dead. In his final breaths, the Dark Eldar were able to torture two words out of the fading Catachan warrior: “fortress overrun”.

Taking these words to mean that the human settlement was defenseless the Dark Eldar rushed into the cathedral of death. Their cries of horror and pain equal to that of the humans who suffered before them.

As the next morning dawned, the 12-year-old stood on a treetop. Brat’s supple form was naked and drenched in the blood of his victims, with hands upraised to the burning sun. “Prince of Pleasure! Oh great Slaanesh! Hear my cry and know my offering! I swear my soul and fealty to you!”

A moment passed with only the sounds of the forest echoing around him.

“Slaanesh the Perfect and Beautiful!” _And now I am just making shit up._ The youth thought to himself as he continued his prayer patiently. “If you accept my offering give me a boon that I might know your favor lies with me!”

Nothing happened and he began to feel disappointed. Perhaps a Chaos god had better things to do with his time. After all Chaos was fickle by nature. Then something stirred in his belly. A queer wiggling feeling that sent wondrous electricity up and down his spine. It squirmed and moved toward his belly button until it seemed to hit his abdominal wall. His belly button seemed to close and a slit began to form vertically in its place. The slit of flesh grew to a handbreadth or roughly 10.5 centimeters (~ 4 inches) in length.

Slowly, as if it were a newborn, the slit opened to reveal a vertically positioned eye where his belly button once was. Its green iris glowed slightly as it stared up at him from between his slightly defined abs.

The youth stared in wonder as he could see himself staring down at the eye and the eye staring up at him simultaneously. He tried blinking and the lids of flesh seemed to push the slightly protruding eye back into his stomach, like a mother telling her child it was not yet time to come out. He opened the eyelids and he could see from his navel eye again.

Slaanesh had indeed heard his cry. Upon his chest, right where his clavicle met his sternum, he found a miniscule purple mark. The glyph of Slaanesh. A circle connected to an upturned waning crescent moon and the line that bound them bisected by a downward waxing crescent.

He smiled and accepted his new life. With the blessing of Slaanesh he would sever himself from the Imperium to live his life as he so pleased. In his mind a small voice seemed to whisper to him, telling him that he would be watch and be judged.

 

**Having accomplished my intended goal, I began to form my own rituals. I scavenged the remains of the fallen Dark Eldar for any feasible equipment or supplies I could use. Like the woman I gathered all the important components of the bodies yet unmarred by insects and such. As I did a small spark kindled within me. A wonder anatomy and biology. I had read that there were other species out there. And I wondered at their existence.**

**Never the less, with spoils in hand I made my way back to the abandoned Dark Eldar ships. I chose the smallest one, a Corsair-class escort I was later to learn, and stowed my belongings. It was clearly intended to hold at least 70 if not 100 crewmen. However, I was the only one alive and of mind to be rid of Catachan soil.**

**I did not know it then but the ship carrying the Dark Eldar woman I had seen had managed to break through the Chaos ships and had returned to the webway for repairs.**

**After a frustrating day of sorting out a crude idea of the Dark Eldar language I managed to get the starship up and running. Soon I was flying through the atmosphere and into space. The star filled void lay before me and not a one challenged that vision. Thinking carefully, I set my course for the Segmentum Obscurus and Coronis Agathon. My reasons being that it was far away from most Adeptus Astartes chapters and around the planet lay a host of largely unguarded settlements. Not to mention it was near a place the Dark Eldar ship designated the “Void of Infinite Souls”. For despite my militant encounters with the race I genuinely considered them as my elders in a way. They were known as the most pagan. And in my mind at the time that meant they were the ones most likely to know of the forbidden arts and of Slaanesh.**

**With that in mind I departed through the void with a smile. Destiny was waiting for me to embrace her. And I did not intend to disappoint.**


	2. pul·chri·tude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unleashed into a daunting new world, Brat escapes alone into the webway with only a Dark Eldar ship and it's wares at his disposal. But what awaits him at the other end of the tunnel?

Chapter 2: pul·chri·tude

 

 

**Humans were not an extraordinary species. The Eldar, extraordinary. The Tau, impressive. The Orks, intriguing. I could have done without the Tyrranids but beggars can’t be choosers. In such grand company Humans seemed mediocre. Perhaps it was the Emperor’s attempt to make ubermensch that put me off. Who knows.**

**However, there is one thing the humans have over most other races. The ability to adapt and mold themselves to an environment. They may change little outwardly but on the inside all the little fluids and psychological mechanics rearrange to compensate. It is really quite fascinating to perceive in person. Especially if you are the one controlling the situation.**

 

Alarms screamed their banshee wails as the Acolyte formerly known as Brat tied to tear the Dark Eldar escort out of the webway. He had foolishly allowed the onboard computer to regulate his destination and before he knew it, the small ship was traversing through the Warp. Knowing little of the Eldar webways and remembering the horrors of what he had read, the youth attempted to drag the starship out of its path by force. But to little avail.

Once the system had been locked on there was little going back. Yet the singular passenger began to attempted a manual override in his panic. Ripping out a few cords and finding a toggle that broke off in his hand the ship screamed in response to his frantic attempts to get out of the warp. Even if he was recognized by Slaanesh himself, the Acolyte did not want to risk his body being torn apart by unfriendly chaos forces.

The escort suddenly careened to the side, rolling over itself and spinning into what seemed to be another vortex of pale blue light. He would have found it beautiful if he had not been fighting to maintain his own balance. There was a sound of ripping and tearing, and a loud pop as if the entire ship had broken through an atmosphere.

As the former Guardsman looked out the window he saw stars. His ship floated in the shadow of a moon, and beyond his concealed position he could see what appeared to be a large asteroid also drifting. A voice chirped in the Dark Eldar tongue and large letters appeared on a monitor next to a diagram of a small system planet. An alternate text line appeared in Imperial gothic, as if the computer knew the origins of its pilot. Tephaine System Sector, Adrantis Sub-sector, Calixis Sector, Segmentum Obscurus.

Planet Reth and its two moons, Tyder and Sedwyr. The latter being a large asteroid that hovered in orbit. According to the text, or what the youth could translate of it when comparing it to several language convertors, Reth was a pleasure world open to the nobility of the Imperium. It supported a large population of over six hundred million and a small garrison of aquatic based troops. There was also a space station that served as a casino and a reported Defense Monitor escort-class Imperial starship.

The Acolyte frowned. Reth had a 379 Terran day year orbit around its star and spun on its axis to create a 22 Terran hour day. Tropospheric composition of Nitrogen 78%, Oxygen 21%, Argon 1%, Carbon Dioxide 0.3%, trace amounts of water vapor. Mean temperature of 31 degrees Celsius. Equatorial Circumference of roughly 36641.5 kilometers. Gravity pull at 0.89 G. An aquatic world hosting an archipelago of thousands of islands dotting a turquoise sea.

The Planetary Governor was a pompous and hard-assed man named Jedidiah de Caul whose family had taken over due to a coup several centuries ago.  Reth still retained, to some extent, its status as a favored destination for senior Adeptus Terra functionaries and Imperial nobles, it also boasted a small, yet influential, complex for the treatment of mental disorders operated by the Orders Hospitaller of the Adepta Sororitas. This facility, the Asylum of Saint Vero, was based on Reth's third largest island, treated over a million inmates, all suffering from a variety of mental illnesses. It was a conglomeration of hospitals, clinics and shrines maintained by the dutiful and dedicated sisters.

His frown deepened as he kept reading. Spies working for the Dark Eldar had heard disquieting rumors that many of the unfortunate patients of the St. Vero asylum were in fact psykers brought to the planet for reasons unknown. The Inquisition had, on occasion, sent its own most troubled members to a secret bunker, known as the Chapel of Blessed Peace, sited below the asylum and protected by psychic hexagrammatic wards, silver seals of great potency, and a special detachment of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers of ancient charter.

In summary, many valued Imperial servants whose talents are still deemed useful to the Imperium, are sent to Reth for a period of recuperation, and in some cases, mind-cleansing.

 ** _Beautiful, is it not my servant?_ ** A voice quietly whispered in the youth’s mind.

 _It is not something I can approach easily oh great Slaanesh._ He replied with his own thoughts, adjusting to the faintly familiar feel of the presence of Slaanesh. Or perhaps his messenger. He did not know.

 ** _You have been sent here as a gift young one. Take as you so desire. The fruits you see before you are well within your grasp._ ** The call of the Prince of Pleasure was certain. **_Make name for yourself my servant. For you are no longer the wretch who eats filth off the street. You are a worshiper of the mighty Slaanesh! Seek and you shall find!_**

 _As you say, my Prince._ The Acolyte bowed and waited for the feeling to recede. _A name?_

Sharp trilling notes dragged his attention away from his thoughts and to the window. He could faintly see a large glimmer against the darkness slowly float away from orbit. From the silver glint and lazy course, he took the starship for a merchant vessel of some kind. Either on an import of export run to another planet within the system.

While he could live comfortably by himself in the Dark Eldar ship for several years he yearned to feel ground beneath his feet again and breath unfiltered air. After checking to see if the orbiting station was on the other side of Reth, the youth moved the Corsair-class escort forward to view his future prize, staying as close to the moon’s surface as possible. The aquamarine globe was indeed beautiful. Several masses of green and yellow marked the larger islands while the smaller ones were all but indiscernible. The local patrol starship was nowhere to be seen and the former Guardsman dared a scan for it. Nothing.

He collapsed into a high back flight chair that was thin in width, built more for the slender forms of the Eldar but accommodating his just fine. _Now. How do I get to the surface?_

Tapping his finger against the chair side he gazed at the planet before him as his ship hovered in suspension. On the surface of Reth white clouds stirred and curled across the planet scape. Though it looked pleasant there were a few larger clouds that appeared to be forming into cyclones of sorts, their forms darkening as they swirled together in a spiral. Perhaps he had arrived in monsoon season and the yearly rains were due for the tropical planet.

The idea latched into his mind and he bolted out of his chair. Using the computer intelligence, a pagan object within the Imperium, he calculated the planet’s storm systems and found what he wanted. A large storm cell several kilometers in diameter and its path placed it over several of the smaller, uninhabited islands. His starship was approximately a kilometer long and a tenth of a kilometer abeam. Finding a place to land and successfully hide the Dark Eldar vessel would be hard but not impossible. The main problem was once he was on the ground the star ship would be all but impossible to get back into space.

Shooting out one more hesitant scan and finding no sign of the Monitor-class patrol vessel, the Acolyte moved his starship forward toward the surface. If he was quick enough the locals would not pay much attention to his vessel as it entered the uppermost atmosphere. Once he was above the storm cell he was aiming for, he would slip into the clouds. The water vapor would cool his ship as he slowed and rotated with the cyclone. The maneuver, while risky, would power the storm and aid the camouflage of his ship. In the haze of the clouds he could scan the landscape and determine where he wished to land.

As the Dark Eldar escort entered the atmosphere alarms sounds resounded and outside the window red burned at the underside of the starship. Flying a kilometer-long starship was not exactly in the former Guardsmen’s repertoire of skills. Fortunately for him, the onboard computer had partial control of the craft to keep the pilots from killing themselves. There was a manual override but the young man did not know where it was. Just as he planned, the ship slipped into the clockwise spin of the storm. The thermodynamic exchange between the Dark Eldar vessel and the rotating weather cell charged the composite cloud as the two danced in the swirling circle. Burning a vaporized path around and around the eye of the storm until the heat on the starship was all but gone. Scanning the surrounding islands, the Acolyte tried not to get sick as he kept his vessel in orbit around the moving eye. 

It took longer than he would have wished, most of the suitable islands were occupied by some form of settlement or another. Others were too small to appropriately hide his large vessel. And there were small patrols dotting the sea. Nothing that would be able to detect his presence but still concerning if they were to happen on his landing spot.

And then he spotted it. A circular island 15 kilometers in diameter that was large enough but almost devoid of inhabitants. It was a dead volcano that had risen out of the sea to push up against the sky. There were sheer cliffs of black volcanic rock facing the east and north that arched away from the volcano in the center of the isle. A sandy beach spread to the south with a coral reef guarded from the sea by a natural breaker formed of outcropping coral and rocks. To the west a mangrove lagoon lay a little inland, sheltered from hard surf by the coral breaker yet sustaining its natural habitat with the excess water brought to it by the occasional high tide. Scans revealed caves large enough to squeeze the starship in were located where the north cliff face met with the furthest slope of the dead volcano. The only settlement was a submarine pod grounded to the sea floor by deep reaching posts. A small dwelling that would house only ten people at the most. It’s extensions diverging out like branches from the main bubble. The inhabitants probably utilized an amphibious vessel to visit their little paradise.

With the storm raging around them, the dwelling was sealed tight. And best of all, there were no naval patrols nearby. Slaanesh had indeed sent him a gift. A wondrous little paradise with which to experience his new gifts.

Like a wraith the Dark Eldar Corsair slipped from the roaring storm and descended the rain swept jungle island. Roaring exhaust glowing in the downpour, the vessel gracefully flew over the tree tops toward the black stone outcropping. With delicate handling it turned completely around and slowly backed into the large cavern. A few scrapes and groans accompanied the tight fit as the starship disappeared into the subterranean enclave, darkness and space shrouding him from all sight.

Fully concealed in his new nest, the Acolyte smiled in content as he shut down the engines. _Sirci perhaps. Or Marahn-Marhna. Aloshi? Ysalda?_

He smiled. Why not all of them?

Marahn-Marhna Sirci Ysalda Aloshi rose from his seat. Soon the lithe youth would begin to stalk his prey, the objects that could fulfill his already growing desires, but first he needed to know them. Unlike most Slaanesh worshipers, he did not intend to die giving himself entirely to pleasure. But rather find a way to elongate and accentuate that pleasure. To draw it out. Slowly, painfully, blissfully drawing it out until that final moment. Then SNAP! The wondrous release would be his to treasure.

But for his hunt Marahn would need tools. Luckily enough, the Dark Eldar had trophies in abundance. Each private quarter of the ship was adorned with a persona of individuality and the things each had held dear in this life. Weapons, armor, poetry, clothing, furniture, stimulants; all he could ever want was here. One room even had a small box shrine dedicated to Slaanesh. Something that would have been kept private.

Finding the largest cabin occupied by strange devices and exquisite woodwork, surely belonging the leader or captain of the ship, Marahn decided to make it his personal room. The round bed was extravagantly large, with mattresses softer than clouds, and purple silk sheets that felt as feathers. Along the walls cleaned skulls and weapons marked the former owner’s past victories. Large containers of questionable liquids bubbled and cast eerie colors across the room, their manufacture drawing power from the starships core. Several wooden crosses stood erected against the left wall with buckled cuffs attached to the ends. Whips, beating sticks, balls with straps to either side, small spheres on long strings were enshrined next to them. Though he had little experience in the erotic field, Marahn could not wait to find out what they were used for.

In one of the two wardrobes bolted to the wall, the youth found a variety of clothing that would have been thought scandalous in the Imperium. Skirts, loincloths, tube tops, straps that connected together to look like clothing, dresses that would only cover one side of the wearer, and an assortment of skin tight body suits that had zippers in odd places.

Yes. This would be a good nest. A place to store things for his survival, for his quest, for his future. Here Marahn would make a place for his future family, those that he would show the wonders of the universe to.

Turning his attention to the outside that lay just beyond this metal husk, Marahn felt his want pulling him. But not yet. No. His will won over his passions. In order to survive he must remain cool-headed. Planning, calculating, and then when he knew he had his pleasure safely within his grasp he would strike.

As a former Guardsman of the Imperium he had plenty of practice stalking, but this new hunt required new skills. Skills needed to be developed and practiced.

The word practice rolled in his mind like a succulent treat.

 _Yesss. I will practice._ The beautiful youth smiled wickedly in the gloom of his nest. _Practice makes perfect._

Taking an extendable impaler spear, its forked spear head glimmering cruelly in the darkness, shouldering a leather satchel, slipping on a dark green loincloth, putting a sheathed wych knife around his neck on a cord, and squeezed into a skimpy florescent tube top of different shades of blue that only covered his male breasts down to his abs. From his middle his navel eye glowed green and flickered around eagerly.

Marahn-Marhna giggled at the feeling of as his eye moved around in his stomach. It was a wondrous feeling. Like being tickled on the inside. The benefit of sight was an added blessing.

With a hiss of metal and a wailing cry, the newborn Acolyte rushed from his black cragged nest and down into the jungle forest. Few things would try to eat him here and the largest things he could find that would be of much danger were large crustaceans that were reminiscent of Terran shrimp. Although to call the cat sized decapods dangerous seemed a tad silly as they trilled and hissed at each other from their puddles of water. Squabbling amongst themselves like children.

Making a trap from saplings and using one of the Nautiline as bait, Marahn managed to catch a tropical parrot. It’s brilliant blue feathers glittered gold and purple as they flailed in the air, the black beaked bird crying out. Its struggle ceased with a flick of the wych blade as the youth ended the creature’s life. Almost faintly he could sense its spirit leave, departing for the Immaterium from which it came. Or wherever animal consciousness’s were formed in this backward universe.

After collecting the blood from the dead bird, Marahn carefully placed the body in his satchel. The wondrous feathers were something he would prize later. Like a predator he stalked silently through the jungle.

The jungle island, while seemingly blossoming with life, was sparse in its production of food. Few fruits grew and although there were animals, they were not very big and providing no substantiating meal. Never the less, Marahn made his way patiently around the vast volcanic summit. He wished to observe the inhabitants of the submarine house. Their comings and goings. If it was a transient dwelling or if it was stuck within that one position. But most of all he wondered whether or not the planet’s naval patrols came to his island often and if the undersea house was used by multiple people over a season.

Rain and lack of maps hampered his advance, but the Acolyte was not without knowledge. He had survived the desert wastes of Tallarn and navigated the jungles of Catachan. A small island such as this with prominent land marks was child’s play. In the first day of his travels he had assembled a portable tent that was light enough to carry around with him. On the third he walked within a stone’s throw of the beach but kept himself hidden in the tree line. Marahn did not want the rich nobles seeing him just yet. He worked through the shoreline woods toward the lagoon and slept there on the third night.

During his stay, he discovered poisonous eel-snake type creatures dwelling within the roots of the lagoon’s trees that only struck when hunted. Capturing one and using a diluted form of its venom on himself, Marahn realized it was a form of paralytic neurological catalyst. Locking up the skeletal muscles but leaving the vascular and all other systems free to operate. The cunning Acolyte made note to collect some later and take them back the ship. They would provide an interesting study to his future anatomical inquiries.

In so observing the aquatic vipers, the athletic youth wondered at the infinite biological abilities other animals possessed. And in part wondered if he too could partake of their wonder. Marahn-Marhna knew that the Dark Eldar were one such race who did not shy away from biological adaptation or augmentation. Perhaps in the future he would seek their council for things more than spiritual matters.

From the trees the Acolyte watched the tourists travel up to the beach on their submersible during the morning and retreating into the waves during the evening. They were jubilant folk who seemed to have little care for how their positions in the Imperium were held up by the feeble shoulders of countless workers. Never the less, Marahn reserved judgement. The group consisted of two older males whom the Acolyte guessed to be father figures, five young females around nineteen or twenty, a pair of obnoxious twin brothers in their late teens and had the same lithe build, and an older mother figure who appeared to be well developed into her late thirties. As a group, they would flock to the beach in revealing swim suits and laze around as they days passed by.

The five females appeared to be a group of friends supervised by one of the older men, only one of which appeared to be his daughter. The twin boys belonged to the other man and the curvaceous woman who oozed with the essence of maternity from her being.

Being adolescent assholes having never spent a day doing actual work, the green-eyed twins were always flirting with the women and attempting stunts to express their masculine prowess. Which only demonstrated their hormonal stupidity.

More than once Marahn caught the man with a daughter, one he had named Whitecap due to the long white hair he sported, stealing glances at the married mother. Or perhaps it was the husband who he had named Bronze after his lavish tan, who was to say?

The younger girls held a more diverse group. There was that one black-haired slut that flirted with the twin boys in hopes of getting her first experience, or perhaps her second. A pail blond that seemed to always read books earned silent praise from the unseen predator as he shadowed the groups day to day movement. Sisterly brunettes with light brown hair and caramel colored skin were more adventurous and perhaps more experience than the rest, often striking out into the forest to explore. Every few trips Marahn would stalk them at a distance while watching them. The last girl, the daughter of Whitecap, who had a platinum mane of hair and emerald eyes, did not talk much and often spoke in facial or body expressions.

Though the Acolyte’s hunger urged him take them now, Marahn-Marhna willed it back down. There would be time for pleasure but for now he would endure the bitter pain in order to achieve that release that would taste sweet after such a long wait.

After spending a week observing his quarry, the worshiper of Slaanesh made his way back to the far north of the island and disappeared inside his grotto nest. He had much to prepare and nothing but time to prepare it.

As he bathed in the starship’s shower system, Marahn noticed that his body was taking on a pail complexion. His slender tanned form had been burned by so many different suns over the years it had grown brown. But now it seemed to revert to a basic sort of hue. And while his eyebrows, eyelashes, head hair continued to grow all other follicles began to wither and fall off. Leaving his skin creamy smooth.

 _Slaanesh you flatterer!_ Marahn grinned like a giddy girl. _If you keep going like this then you’re going to discover my weak spot._

He stopped and cocked his head. _Where the heck did that come from? Oh well, might as well enjoy the feeling while it lasts._

Cleaned of his travels and tossing his used clothing into what he perceived cleaning mechanism, the Acolyte stalked toward his gathered findings in the nude. Pulling out the parrot he had taken pains to preserve, he began plucking the bird. Each feather was unique and a wonder to behold. Though vibrant blue in color they glittered all manner of purple, yellow, and green even in the faintest of lights. The down feathers he would find use for later. The longer pinion feathers he had the thought of twining in his blond hair when it grew past its current shoulder length. The brush of soft feathers on his naked form and the sounds echoing around him seemed to molest him. Rapturous in the simplistic feeling.

 _Do the pleasures of feelings never cease?_ The Acolyte smiled to himself as he finished with his task. _Now for a little ‘private’ time._

Looking around Marahn-Marhna did not see anything else that needed immediate looking after. Eventually he shuffled over and toppled onto the large round bed. The sheets smelled of former trysts and hedonistic nights, the scent of herbs and elixirs whiffed into the new owner’s nostrils. With such passionate memories swirling around him, he could not help but touch himself.

Slender fingers gently squeezed his soft balls, rolling them around in their smooth sack before working up to slightly trace the length of his flaccid shaft. Heat and blood rushed as primordial rituals thrummed throughout the Acolyte’s body. Soon enough his shaft had become ridged at the faint caresses of his hands. In addition, a new sensation was brought to his attention. The feeling of emptiness inside and the slight twitching in his ass.

With curiosity, the Acolyte rolled onto his side though not bothering to look. The bed sheets were a sea of comfort on which Marahn-Marhna explored his body. Though he had long been in the Imperial Guard, never did he have time for sexual instruction. As such he only knew the basics of self-taught lovemaking. And only with himself. Something he would rectify soon.

Suckling on a finger to get it wet, the Acolyte reached behind him. The saliva ribbon breaking and made a glistening bridge as he moved his finger toward his back door. With a firm press and an unmanly moan, the slender digit wormed in past his clenching virgin sphincter with some effort. His anal muscles spasmed and clenched tightly around the intruder as if interrogating the finger for its sudden appearance. Experimentally sliding it in further, Marahn-Marhna felt his finger bump up against something. The small push sent a spasming jerk through his hips and spine, making his thin frame arc back like a bow.

Again and again he pressed the nub hidden underneath fleshy layers of his insides with greater and greater pleasure. His bowels twitched and squirmed around his finger as the Acolyte urgently pressed in further. He was a mass of sweat and whimpering girly moans as he writhed on the round bed. His pleasures adding to past memories and drifting like incense to his claimed Chaos master. Before long the Acolyte felt his ass clench and his entire being tense as blinding white overcame him, wet bliss shooting from his erection to stain the already dirtied sheets. Though it had been more from his ass experiment than from his faithful phallic stroking.

Drowsily crawling off the bed and along the floor, Marahn-Marhna wondered in his mind if one of the drugs on the shelves would aide in his future revelries. Kneeling and grasping a large corked beaker, the Acolyte opened his welcoming mouth with tongue stuck out lewdly. Tipping the glass container so its red liquid contents would pour directly down his throat, Marahn uncorked the beaker. Heavy fumes wafted into his nostrils and a sudden sense of euphoria and desire overcame him almost instantly. His mind was buzzing like air with no restraint, bouncing in all directions at once. But the Acolyte realized his mistake to late as the scarlet liquid flowed down into his mouth and directly into his throat.

 

**My first experience with stimulants was one of the few times I have come close to death. For three days I was nothing but blissfully unaware of anything my body was doing. By some fortune or fate I woke up unharmed and unconsumed. However, I was shaken and frightened at my loss of control. From that point on I resolved to take greater precautions and steps to ensure I would never again fall to total pleasure. At least not without the equal desire to get out of it alive.**

 

Light and throbbing noise awoke the Acolyte. As he opened his eyes Marahn-Marhna saw that he was no longer in the safe confines of his grotto nest. Instead he lay face up in a small puddle with the sun’s unforgiving rays piercing through the sparse jungle canopy. It was almost beautiful. Save for the excruciating headache. Turning his head, Marahn saw crushed and beat forms of the Nautiline as well as the corpses of birds pinned with wings outstretched to the trees all around him.

Groaning at his aching head and stupid mistake, the Acolyte hauled himself out of the puddle. All other things were to come later. For now all he wanted was to get back to the Dark Eldar ship and rinse off. Blood from his kills had caked up to his forearms and sandy loam was in his blonde hair. It did not help that some kind of fluid was flowing out his pucker and down the inside of his thigh. Thankfully it was not blood. Slaanesh only knew what or who that came from.

It did not take long to reach his den and the Acolyte found that his hiding place remained a secret from all except himself. With relief the slender, pail youth climbed back into the cave. Careful to not cut his feet on the sharp, dark rocks Marhna felt only slightly relieved that he had survived this imprudent event. He had survived, yes. But as for his unknown actions that he could not remember, consequences were sure to ensue soon. If he had taken it too far and moved on his prey beneath the waves, he would soon be discovered. Even though he could have a chance of evading for extended periods of time, to Marahn this was one of the worst outcomes.

But for the present a bath was required. Scrubbing every inch and pore of his body, Marhna felt his woes wash away in the familiar warm water. When not looking over his shoulder in the Schola Progenium, showers had been his down time. Somehow the steam and semi-solitude seemed to wash all other troubles away. But very much not like the current shower he was taking, there would always be a predator stalking behind him. Whether it was an instructor, one of the older students, or even one of the younger ones in their employment. There were always predators that were hungry for blood. And schemers always looking for some chance at getting a leg up.

 _Even now._ The Acolyte thought as he turned the heat up as hot as he dared and let the water run over his bowed head. _All the gods of Chaos are fickle, even if they are honest about it. In the current employment of Slaanesh I need to be careful. Pick my fights carefully. And targets warily._ A smile formed on his heat numbed lips. _I can name my predators at least. All that is left is to prepare the way and the plan should fall into place._

Quickly shutting off the water and stepping out, Marhna grabbed a wash cloth and noted more of his body hair had fallen off in the shower. All that was left was a slight fuzz on his arms and a small patch of yellow above his shaft. His skin had grown smoother but had changed little in color.

Drying himself and wrapping the cloth around his chest like a woman would, the Acolyte stepped through the metal capillaries of the Dark Eldar ship back to his claimed chamber. Marhna set about gathering up things for his next trip. Or his last. If the visitant nobles had glimpsed him then he would have to make quick on his relocation. As much as the new hungers the Prince of Pleasure had gifted him begged to be sated, the acolyte would not be swayed. Once already he had fallen into delirium. It would not do to fall twice.

With the same gear and clothes assembled, the Acolyte prepared for his second trip down the mountain. In addition to the weapons and satchel, Marahn decided to take an additional storage container. He searched about until he found a tub with a strap that would serve as a creel, a satchel to hold live fish in. Marahn also selected several containers full of drugs like the one he had taken previously as well as an injection pistol. They may not have the same effects that they did on animals as they did humans but at least he would have a decent idea before taking them himself.

Assembling his stuff and putting the cleaned clothes he wore his last trip on, the Acolyte set out again. On a paranoid precaution, he had set charges to go off in the ship if anybody set off any of the tripwires he had placed before leaving. In case Marahn would be separated from his nest, he did not want anybody else to know of his individual presence.

As the Nautiline could not survive out of water they were of no use to Marahn-Marhna aside from test subjects. The birds were valuable to him for the fact that their feathers could be used for trade. He would also collect a few of the eel-snakes to take with him when he was ready to leave this planet. Some he would use as experiment subjects and leave two alive as venom donors. The paralytic toxin that was in their fangs would come in handy.

The sky had darkened and the lights of moons and stars shown on the possible footpaths. Creeping away like a shade amongst the shadows, Marahn-Marhna glanced back to the grotto and let out a sigh. If this did not pan out, then he would be down a ship and no place to go but into enemy lines. And as sweet as innocent Imperium citizens may be the Acolyte did not put his trust in nobles if he had to. Marahn turned his back on the cave and began his journey down into the jungle.

 

It took a few days this time. Working his way down.

The Acolyte took the long road, skirting the tree line around the dormant volcano and climbing halfway up to survey his little niche. There were a pair of patrols boats to the north. Marahn watched them for a time, making sure that they did not have any friends in the area. But when he was sure they were just there for show, he slipped down the mountain again. Taking to the jungle in earnest.

Though his time had been mainly spent in the deserts of Tallarn and hive world slums before that Marhna welcomed the forest. And it welcomed him back. It all but consumed his presence as he whispered through it like a spirit. Not even the brilliantly feathered birds noticed as one of their flock went missing without a sound.

Spending the better part of a week, the Acolyte stealthily injected Nautiline with various individual and mixed drugs that he had brought with him. Studying their behavior was a chore but it paid off. Though crustacean in nature the Nautiline were extremely vivid in their reactions.

From what Marahn noted red meant a combination of hallucinogen and upper stimulant. Green was a type of sense stimulus combined with a nerve component that allowed for faster reaction time. Black was not to be touched as the Nautiline he had injected had swelled to the size of a large dog and had yet to come down from its rampage of fratricide. Pink was the kicker which was a nice blend of stimulant and hallucinogen that allowed the mind to feel relaxed while going through a dream like state. Lastly was the purple that was something Marahn believed the captain had confiscated from the Dark Eldar follower of Slaanesh. The Nautiline he had injected the purple with had gone into a trance of sorts. It began attacking as well as mating with its own kind. All in a calm almost lackadaisical manner as if nothing in the world was wrong. When purple came against black the former just sat contently until black had beaten it to a pulp and feasted on its corpse.

Definitely not something to taking leisurely. Though it would be interesting to use it as a weapon.

Likewise, the birds became a constructive hobby. Though self-forced hours of dissection and stitching in the early morning Marahn-Marhna became slightly attune to their working of anatomy. As well as the processes necessary both death and the preservation of life. If a limb was broken it had to mend correctly. If a vital artery was cut it had to be pinched or rerouted. Though major workings still alluded the Acolytes grasp.

Traveling and working his way down to the lagoon, Marahn made sure to keep his distance from the aquatic dwelling family. It was not time to appear. Not yet.

But that did leave time for observation while taking some living samples. As Marahn-Marhna milked venom from the eel-snakes and taking a few for keeping, the Acolyte kept an ear open.

The group was split into packs as he had suspected. The older man named Jethro or Whitecap was visiting the planet with his daughter Mithra. Jethro appeared to be a widowed noble from somewhere high up in the Imperium but still trying to balance parenting with work.

Annabeth, the wife, her husband Logarth, and their twin sons Jefferson and Nikola were also nobles but from a different type. While Jethro seemed to come from a governmental position Logarth was steeped in business. From the glances Logarth was giving Jethro and the stern eye contact between them, Marhna would guess there was some intense tension there. Either they had a long-standing rivalry or Logarth flag polled for multiple people besides his wife. There were extremely familiar gestures between the Logarth family; not only between father and mother but with their children as well. But then who was a humble servant of Slaanesh to judge?

As for the assorted female youths they appeared to be the friends of Mithra. The blond book reader, Yolinda, kept to herself and was neck to neck with Mithra, the platinum haired daughter of Jethro, in the maturity competition. Dark haired Alice the slut was obviously the one who had begged the whole vacation into existence. Not to mention she was the one trying to join the overly familiar Logarth family. As for the brunette sisters Mika and Mina, they seemed to be on the path of a military profession. Marahn surmised that if they lived through training it would be a short career. He personally knew all too well that becoming a cog in the machine meant sacrificing your body and soul to the Imperium. The only escape from that was either death or heresy.

Marhna pitied them. They had little inkling in their little youthful lives how hollow their existence was. How much blood was spent on keeping this little paradise of theirs safe from daemons, slavers, and such.

After the twelfth day had passed, Marahn-Marhna began formulating how exactly he would strike his prey. Personally, he did not want to kill or claim them all. It would be far too violent and the screams of women did not sit soundly with his claimed heart. No, he decided on a different strategy: corruption.

The Acolyte would come to them in dress as an offering from some wayward party. Stranded on this lone isle with no other place to go until he had to fulfill his task of “pleasing” the guests. Even if they rejected his notion, which Marhna knew Logarth would not, they would still invite him into their house. There he would subtly suggest some things and maybe slip a few drugs to lighten the mood. Where it went from there he would let the dark of night decide. After all, the shades of a men’s hearts come alive in solitude.

He would allow his victims the choice he never had himself. The choice of the heart and mind. While his was made on the battlefield these were mostly innocent, naïve folk. None had seen the horrors this new age of endless war wrought. None had lost comrades in their arms as their lifeblood seeped out through cruel wounds. They were yet untainted by the dark abyss that ever hungered for more. And so the Acolyte warranted them a chance. The group could turn back to their lives of high calling or drink fully of the sweet seduction. They would have the choice to leave the table any time it pleased them. Any less and Marahn-Marhna would feel as if he had insulted life itself. After all, people should be free to make choices of their own should they not?

Collecting all that he needed and having satisfied his curiosity of his fellow island goers, Marahn-Marhna began his trek back to his grotto. With no inquiring curiosities to overview this time, the Acolyte returned to his cave with the familiarity and quiet of a large cat.

After dumping the pair of captured eel-snakes into a water tank, Marahn began preparation for the hunt. The scene of pleasure and deception was being set behind the curtain. And although he would have to manipulate the puppets a little, Marahn-Marhna wanted to cut the strings and see them dance on their own.

The Acolyte went about the ship collecting the things he would need as well as studying any documents he could translate from the Dark Eldar libraries, both the ship’s databases and personal stashes.

The former captain of this vessel had an affinity for sexual torture and domination. She kept extensively detailed records, even going so far as to draw diagrams and sketches of the scenes she had formed with constructs of flesh. Though he did not share the former commander’s fanaticism for physical torture, the Acolyte did get a sense that she did it more for the psychological impact it had. Small things made big differences. Even a feather could topple a boulder if it landed in the right spot.

That, and soft-skinned ridding crops were best for ass beating.

Going through the notes and comparing the text to the on-board translator, Marahn-Marhna began forming a list. Firstly, he would need the proper outfit. Something that oozed ‘sex slave’ yet would accent his façade of innocence and timid appearance. After sorting through several dresses the ships former crew left behind, the Acolyte landed on a handful that were saucy enough to seem revealing but covered enough of his body to hid his third eye and the small yet obvious glyph that the Prince of Pleasure had marked him with. It would also need to look expensive. In that way, the nobles he was targeting would hesitate to remove it from his body.

One in particular caught his eye. The fabric was silken smooth, as if touching the ocean itself, and colored a rich purple with subtle stripped hues cutting across horizontally like a tiger pattern. The high-collar neck gave the Acolyte’s figure an appearance of slenderness as it wrapped his throat and neck in a silken tube all the way to his jaw. His slender shoulders were left bare; the lengthy fabric being held up by the lovely noose around Marnha’s slender neck. Flowing down, the main body sheathed his form like a magenta waterfall. Ruffling only at the bottom with little curved accents. A pair of slits opened the sides of the dress to his curvy legs now devoid of blemish or any possible future of hair growth. Coming up all the way to his hip on the left and up to the knee on his left. As for the back of the dress, it was almost entirely open from shoulder down to his hips. Just barely hinting at the curves of Marhna’s toned yet supple ass.

The Acolyte decided to ditch any thought of a bra. It would defeat the purpose of the meek impression. Considering what he was going to get into, by the time he arrived his nipples and areolae would probably be like miniature mountains beneath the soft dress fabric. Panties however were a different matter. The right pair would scream docility and submissive while attempting to maintain a hint of purity in a scandalous environment. After more review, the Acolyte found a tantalizing pair of black lacy bikini bottoms that were definitely not made for swimming. Hints of blue swirled through the butterfly design, giving it a midnight’s dream appeal.

Marhna also found a pair of white gold hoop earrings that went along nicely with the rest of his apparel. On the 10cm diameter rings were a pair of what the Acolyte took to be black pearls. The small beads of darkness glimmered and seemed to have a faint red glow emanating from their pierced core like a still beating heart.

Second, he would need the proper equipment. There was an assortment of things his hunger wanted to try out but only a few that he actually needed. The Acolyte reminded himself that he was going into a household of presumed faithful imperialists as an avatar of the Prince of Pleasure. It would not do to misrepresent his new master. Slaanesh offered luxury, gratifying indulgence, and the pursuit of perfection. So for now Marahn-Marhna would stick with the basics.

A ‘butt plug’ and lubricant would be nice. It said he came prepared for the occasion. A bottle of expensive looking of exotic wine said he was not supposed to leave until the deed was done. But of course it was not as simple as that. The plug and lubricant were to get him loose enough to take whatever his guests gave him, though Marahn-Marhna planned on it only being the two fathers. As for the rest, the wine would be the trigger. And maybe some scented candles.

Finding a rather expensive looking crystal glass full of dark blue looking liquor, Marahn-Marhna dumped three-quarters of the Dark Eldar beverage. He had no idea if regular humans, let along himself in his present state would be able to handle a swig from the Dark Eldar brew. A taste of only one drop confirmed his suspicions. The liquor, whatever it was, had been laced with drugs and elixirs. It was a witch’s pot full of violent hallucinations waiting to happen. The Acolyte would have to find a plain beverage that was not as strong as the first but would still was a few marks above any average human drink.

Thankfully, the Dark Eldar had stashed some Catachan Rum on board before they had foolishly decided to raid the already overrun fortress. It was all stored in large wooden barrels waiting to be syphoned into glasses and bottles. All the Acolyte had to do was knock a nuzzled peg into one of the barrels and poor the smooth amber liquid into the crystal. Lastly, the Acolyte poured in a dash of red and a droplet of pink from the concoctions he had tested a few days earlier.

He watched in fascination as the liquids swirled together, mixing and twisting behind carefully etched crystal. The concoction formed a dark red, amber-ish look wreathed in swirling black. It looked to the Acolyte like a beating heart. Full of sin yet still beating with strength and life blood. Absolutely fascinating.

As for the scented candles, they were easier to find. The crew member who had a shrine to the Prince of Excess had ingeniously fit incense sticks inside scented candle wax. Though this would ordinarily be self-defeating, the candle wax retreated from the heat of the incense. Allowing it to ‘burn’ like a regular candle.

The Acolyte consulted the ship’s onboard computer as to the meaning of the symbols designating each candle type. From what the computer translated for him there were ones for meditating on battle, ones for meditating on torture, ones for dreamless sleep, ones for putting a victim’s mind at ease, ones that forced illusions of one’s fantasy reality on the subject, ones that induced one’s absolute nightmare, ones that made little smoke butterflies, ones that put the user in a trance, ones that pulled the user out of a trance, and ones that summoned daemons from the Immaterium into a host body.

 _Yes._ Marahn looked over the tools of his masquerade. _It is ready. The stage is set. Now all that’s left is the beautiful fool._

Placing all his necessities carefully in several bags Marahn-Marhna decided against bringing a weapon of any kind. He would place himself in the hands of his prey. If they handed him over to the planetary garrison, then there was little he could do about it. ‘The cards will fall as they will’ Old Gregorov would probably say. The big Stormtrooper had taken three shots to the throat as he made a suicide charged at a well defended trench. Apparently he had disobeyed the inquisitor whom he was assigned to and the bastard sent him on a ‘holy mission’ to ‘cleanse his soul’.

Marahn-Marhna sneered in disgust as he headed for the shower stalls for one last rinse. His now hairless body looked like something out of a dream. While still obviously masculine it curved with feminine beauty. His blue-grey eyes sparkled like starlight and his blond hair flowed from his raven peak down a little past his shoulders now. Aside from the apple on his throat no one would mistake him for a man if he went out in that dress. Warm water washed over smooth, hairless skin that had grown a tad paler in the past week.

The Acolyte let the warmth embrace his form as he leaned his back against the wall and covered his shallow chest with his arms. _I guess this is how humanity falls._ The former guardsman chuckled at the thought. _Well, here’s to falling so that others may rise to the occasion._

After finishing his last little ritual, the Acolyte tied up his wet hair in a ponytail and collected his things. He left the comfort of his grotto at dusk with the two bags and the exotic clothes he had used before for hunting, the loincloth and tube top. The darkness seemed to guide him, pulling him toward his prey.

Marahn-Marhna traveled down the mountain, down into the lagoon where he bathed again. Cleaning his body thoroughly, both inside and out. Dousing himself in oil and incense, the Acolyte washed every inch of his beautifully androgynous form. If one were to behold him, they would think the stars and moon had birthed a siren in the flesh of a boy.

He would perform this minor ritual twice, once now and once before he would make his approach. The Acolyte patiently waited as the sun rose over the archipelago ocean with a dazzling light, the sea shining as gold beneath the morning rays. Marhna sat patiently, content and at peace to merely enjoy the rising sun at the beauty behind the birth of a new day. His prey would come to him. For now, the small things, like the sound of the waves and the smell of the sea and the warmth of sunlight contracting with the cool ocean breeze, were enough.

 _Always the little things_. Marhna smiled as he closed his eyes and felt the light embrace his shut-out sight in an aura of warm colors. _Here’s to heresy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why I'm using metric instead of standard it's because a lot of the info is in metric (lengths, distances, weights, etc.) and I didn't really have time to convert all of them.   
> Also, let it be noted that I have played some of the games and read a few of the books, but most of the information I draw from can be found online. If you, the reader, is lost on something you can look it up with relative ease.


	3. Hospes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With ruin descending from the island steps, creeping down between shaded jungle trees as it goes, how will the Imperial nobles content with the prospect of pleasure beyond their imagining?  
> Or have some already tasted and thirst for more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't read this chapter if your squeamish.

Chapter 3: Hospes

 

As per usual, the ocean visitors came up from the waves in a submersible craft of some sorts. From the ninth hour of the day they frolicked about the beach, laughing, eating, singing, playing, and enjoying themselves to no end. Stopping only to break for a noon meal, the Imperium nobles enjoyed the peaceful sunny day. Truly believing that all was right with their little world. Shadows of worry and doubt only reached the most burdened at night when the darkness came. But in the shinning sunlight, all worry faded from their minds like wax. Freeing the flame of thought and conscious from succumbing to darker concepts.

So caught in the extravagant beauty of the pleasure world that they failed to notice the approach of a lone figure coming up the beach. The twins, Mika and Mina, were the first to spot him. A pail slender figure standing meekly against the wild ocean winds; rich purple dress billowing like a banner heralding a coming storm. As more eyes turned to the unexpected visitor the more questions began growing in the minds of the nobles. Yet drawing nearer, it became apparent just how out of place the unanticipated flower was. Dressed like a high-class escort and shuffling barefoot through the hot sand; carrying nothing but the clothes on her back and a wrapped bundle. Pale blue-grey eyes like ghostly gems glittered worriedly, dancing between each of the nobles but careful not to look directly at them. Expensive jewelry glittered in the golden light, their cost showed in their glamorous extravagance yet paled in comparison to the flowing blond locks that flittered about the escort’s head like strands of gold.

Jethro was the first to approach holding out an open hand signaling the young flower to stop her advance. “What is your name and your business here?”

The others had stopped their activities and gathered in a small, disjointed group. Like lambs in a slaughtering pen. Never the less they stood together, unsure of this new arrival.

Eyes still flickering back and forth, and body slightly shaking with apparent worry the escort made a quick bow from the waist. “A thousand apologies my lords and ladies for intruding upon your respite. I was sent here to see to any needs that you may require.”

The phrase hung in the air, not even the wind could blow it away. There was little doubt in what it meant, but the reasons as to why it was spoken remained. As if realizing the tense silence, the flinching escort began to shuffle her feet back and forth.

“Are my lords and ladies displeased with me?” The small voice quivered and was almost unheard on the wind. “Is my appearance repulsive to your senses?”

While Logarth and Annabeth remain somewhat stoic besides the faint look of interest in their eyes, Jethro grimaced. He had approved of this vacation with Mithra and her friends because he wanted to avoid encounters exactly like this. It was ill manners that noblewomen had been constantly seeking his attention and that of his daughter since the untimely death of his late wife Rebecca. Now this whore, innocent and pitiful as she may be, was sent to appease the lack of intimacy others presumed Jethro felt at the absence of his wife. As if Rebecca could be replaced. Logarth and his constant, indiscreet advances helped nothing. Jethro was so caught up in his anger at Logarth that the touch of a hand upon his muscular arm shocked him.

Jethro looked down to see the emerald eyes of his daughter stare up at him, full of compassion and wonder that so reminded him of his wife. _Oh sweet Rebecca. Look how our daughter has grown._ Though his frown lessened the stern father did not smile as he looked back to the now visibly shaking escort. _Like a wild yearling just getting used to its legs. It must be her first time outside the care of her master’s house. Poor little thing._

Looking closer, the purple draped pleasure slave was younger than his own daughter. Perhaps had seen 15 or 16 Terran years at most. Her prepubescent breasts had yet to blossom, though her adolescent curves could be considered attractive in some form. And she stood there, an offered slab of meat to taste and sample as much as the nobles could want.

With a long sigh Jethro finally conceded, rubbing the stubble that had grown on his strong jaw. “What is your name?”

The gruff words seemed to have a worse effect than intended as the pale blue-grey eyes flickered worriedly. She was frantically thinking that it was in the worst possible etiquette for a lord of the Holy Imperium of Mankind to ask the name of a simple servant, one who was little more than a flesh toy at that. A lord of his stature, or of any stature for that matter, should not bother themselves with the name of a lowly servant who was only a few steps above a servitor.

A blush crept up from the escort’s flat chest and neck to her face. She kept her head to the side and eyes down as she replied. “I am called Sirci, my lord.” The small voice contained enough muster as the girl could visibly manage.

“Sirci.” The name rolled almost salaciously off Logarth’s tongue before Jethro could reply.

Grimacing, Jethro frowned at Logarth as if to state that he disapproved of the other man’s behavior with his beloved daughter stood to his side.

“Please don’t send me back.”

The voice was barely heard on the wind.

Jethro turned his gaze back to the lone escort, his eyes widening slightly and cursing himself with his own thoughts. Disregarding the escort and shunning her from their house would mean severe punishment for the slender youth. Even if her master retrieved her from this island the likelihood of the escort keeping her own mind, or at least what little she had at the moment, was none. She would become a beautiful animal in a cage. Subject to the whims of other noble men and women of the Imperium as they pleased until the pitiful creature’s value wore out. And while it would only darken his sleep but a little, Jethro hated for his own daughter to see her father as the initiator of such horrid events. Mithra, though she was still but a youth at the age of 15 Terran years, had a quick mind and was sure to find out what her father had done.

The nobleman gave a tired sigh as he gave one last look over the young woman’s body and the package that was no doubt meant to sweeten the deal. “Very well. Sirci, you are a guest in our house. Nothing will be required of you save for what you wish. I will have none of us order anything of you and you may rest in separate quarters so as to keep your privacy. I would expect nothing less from myself and my companions.” Jethro was sure to put an emphasis on guest, glancing Logarth as he did. The bronzed skinned noble smirked but nodded his consent. “We will accommodate you for the night but no more than that.”

Blue-grey eyes brightened like stars in the night though they quickly were cast down at the noble’s feet when the escort remembered her status. Still it did not keep the joy out of her voice. “One thousand and one thanks my lord! I am not but a humble servant but if there is any way I can ease your respite and make it more pleasurable, by your permission I would gladly serve you.”

“What is in the parcel you hold?” Logarth ask, keen eyes still roving over the escort’s nubile body. Though he had acknowledged Jethro’s wish with a consenting nod, he was not above taking advantage of a situation.

“Oh.” The escort unwrapped the soft leather cloth to reveal a dark liquor of some kind still sealed with wax inside a crystal container and several vanilla colored cylinders that smelled of honeysuckle and wildflowers in spring.

A slight blush tinted the escort’s pail cheeks, coloring them a bright pink. “These were meant for other things, but if they would please my lords and ladies they are made by some of the finest artisans the Holy Imperium has to offer. These gifts would be a waste on the body of a servant such as I.”

Before Jethro could speak, Logarth had closed the distance and swept up the handcrafted gifts with a grin. “Nonsense! Treasures such as these should be shared by all!” His hands strayed ever so close as to touch Sirci’s immaculately soft skin as he did. “Whether they be servant or lord, a body’s needs are meant to be fed. And drinks are meant to be drunk.”

With a simple exposition and familiar gesture Logarth had already started ushering the slender but sensuous Sirci into their little group of escapists. Jethro forced himself not to object, subduing his ire and steeled himself with placidity. The others were slow to accept the new arrival and their communion was backstopped even more when they each saw the small yet distinctive apple nervously bobbing up and down at the escort’s throat. Without a shred of doubt, this innocent looking flower was indeed a young man with the bodily curves of a woman.

Yet only the twin boys seemed to look on Sirci with disgust, and even that was quickly replaced with a hunger as they stared at the strange liquor that seemed to dance within the crystal container.

In his mind, Jethro wondered why would another from the Imperial Administratum would send a feminine boy not yet 14 Terran years by the look of it to lay with him. Did they mean it as a jest or a ploy? The white-haired noble fought the urge as he saw that Logarth seemed to have little qualms with letting the mysterious yet apparently overwhelmed servant stay with them. Even Mithra was drawn to the escort in her own way and Jethro admitted to himself that the servant had no guile.

Somewhat at ease about the matter, the nobles went back to their activities with the new servant Sirci attending their needs whenever he could. Even going out of his way to provide as much comfort for the nobles as possible. Altering their umbrellas to give them just the right amount of shade. Even serving them drinks from their own supply so those of noble birth would not have to move a finger.

 _Though given relief from her-_ Jethro caught himself. _His duties, Sirci still seeks to appease us and make us most comfortable. His master had trained him well. Not only does the boy go about quickly to meet our every need, he anticipates them and acts accordingly with joyous spontaneity. _

The moment was somewhat ruined when Logarth asked the feminine slave boy to oil the noble’s back least the sun burn his skin. Sirci, ever eager to serve and ignorant of any alternant implications it seemed, gladly did as she-. Did as HE was bade, going about oiling Logarth’s already bronzed skin with a fine sheen.

As the heat of the day passed and the sun began its descent on the horizon of Reth, the nobles began packing up their things. As the eighth hour past noon approached, a clunky submersible vessel sprang up onto the beach like a metal turtle. It slowly flopped part way onto the cooling sands with hilariously waving metal flippers and finally subsided in contentment. The front opened like a gaping maw, threatening to devour all who dared come close. But in the opening was a comfortable set of seats, enough for thirty or forty and space for room, despite the monster like metal shell that protected it from the pressure of the sea.

With the setting of the sun painting clouds purple and orange on the horizon, the nobles sought rest underneath the cool waters of the tropical sea. Each did not mind the trip as the rather awkward contraption, once full of its passengers plus one, pushed itself back into the waves and was soon swimming down into the coral depths surrounding the volcanic island. The box like construct took them down to the sloping floor, just where the island ridge dropped off to the bottom and attached itself to the submersed living quarters with aquatic grace that belied its maneuverability on land. A whine and a hiss seemed to echo around the metal container as a circular door opened on the side, revealing a large transparent walkway illuminated by lights and what little sunlight now penetrated the ocean surface. A myriad of aquatic creatures were settling into their nightly routines as they swam sluggishly through the deep blue water. Though Sirci looked all around with wonder and awe few of the nobles even bothered looking out the glass to see the wonders that passed them by. Each locked either in thought or conversation as they moved into the strange tubular dwelling with large oval like rooms.

From the outside, the shell appeared formed of some kind of white material. But on the inside was an extravagant get away fit for its Administratum occupants. Shinning wooden floor planks gleamed in the light with furniture that were cushioned to feel like clouds. The entire complex was dotted with subdued but natural yellow lighting. Though the occupants most likely had little idea how they worked.

Jethro noted that Sirci looked like a child seeing a palace for the first time, eyes wide with delightful glee as he took in all that was around him. The boy escort even sniffed the air a little and made something of a squeak, mentioning the smell of fresh flowers in the air.

To his credit, Jethro smiled as he wrapped an arm around his daughter. _At least the young one can appreciate the finer things in life. Even if he is a pleasure slave, Sirci knows when she-, He sees beauty._

However, Logarth’s hungry grin arrested the serine moment, causing the white haired noble to frown. _That fool had better keep his hands to himself. All the time we have spent on this so-called trip of leisure he has been staring at the world with that same look. By the Emperor, if he so much as breaks my word to Sirci by touching her, HIM, then he will find himself one finger short._

But the look was not for the pleasure slave alone, Logarth also eyed the bundle Sirci had been carrying and the contents it bore. The thought of tasting and experiencing the contents was beginning to weigh heavily on him.

When they entered the main room, dominated by wall built sofas and elegant circular tables and sloped walls, each of the nobles went about their own habits. Mithra and Yolinda squared up to finish a previous game of chess while the twin sisters, Mika and Mina, watched. Logarth’s wife and two sons sat next to one another, uncomfortably close than anyone else. The two boys slipping into stagnant positions that would have been offensive if they had not been family, one draping himself over Annabeth’s lap and the other nuzzling into the soft place between his mother’s arm and bosom. Jethro was content to watch his daughter and Yolinda play as he lounged in one of the few wooden chairs around the room; keeping a wary eye on Logarth.

It did not take long before the industrial noble broke away from the constant habits they had formed over the past weeks. “Sirci, my dear,” The large man flashed one of his enigmatic smiles as he ushered the sashaying escort over and handing him the bundle. “Open the drink for us. I have a keen sense that whatever that wondrous liquid is, it must taste of glory.”

The escort nodded eagerly, if not ignorantly, before Jethro could object and set the candles down before trying to open the crystal. Sirci comically tried to break the wax seal on the container, his face turning several shades of red and his cheeks puffed out as his lithe but thin arms attempted to pull the top off the crystal flask.

Logarth, in a seemingly virtuous manner, smiled before relieving the escort of the container. “Now then my dear, I think it would be best if stronger hands took upon the task. Yours, while most certainly willing, are unsuited for tasks such as this. Allow me to open and you to pour.”

Sirci nodded with a brilliant smile on his face. As Logarth undid the red wax around the neck of the crystal flask, his wife took up one of the set aside candles. “It would be a waste not to use all of these gifts if they were so prepared for us to use.” The busty and curvaceous woman gave a sweet smile at the girlish escort. “Sirci, could you light these after serving everyone up a glass? I am a bit of a connoisseur of scents myself and, I am afraid to admit, eager to see what these wonderful things have to offer.”

“Of course my lady.” Sirci’s excitement knew no bounds as she retrieved the wisping black-red liquor from Logarth and a set of heavy whisky glasses. “I am always happy to serve.”

Before any responsible or logical argument could be made to the contrary, a glass was either in the hand or by the side of all the nobles. The swirling pattern taking independent shapes of their own inside the glasses, as if the breath of air had given them new life. Even Jethro had to admit he was intrigued as to the flavor of the contents.

Whether they took a sip or a gulp, each of the nobles partook of the smooth liquor as the innocent looking Sirci took childlike joy in lighting the candles and setting them about the room. The flickering flames and the slight tinge of smoke created a sultry atmosphere of fantastical proportions. The nobles felt at ease as more and more of the gift liquor burned smoothly down their throats and warmed their bellies. Even those who took sips like Mithra and Yolinda or the twins Mira and Mika felt the inquisitorial need to taste more.

The air became heady as senses came alive, the taste of the liquor was fire in their mouths and the scent of the candles filled their nostrils. Each felt more alive than they had before. The twin boys and Annabeth took up more salacious poses and seemed to constantly writhe to get in a better position. Mithra kissed her father good night and made quickly for her room, her belt cinched forcefully around her waist and her shirt tucked tightly against her slender form. The daughter of the Administratum noble walked stiff legged back to her quarters with a faint squelching sound trailing her.

Jethro was too busy minding the others that he lost track of Logarth and Sirci entirely. With one quick gulp, the white maned man all but slammed his glass on a nearby table and shot to his feet. Taking in a deep breath he stormed from the room. Hot air swirled around him as he chugged in huge draughts of the scent laced atmosphere through his flaring nostrils, the smoke of the candles doing little to sooth his rising temper. By the time he arrived at Logarth’s quarters a vein was throbbing on his forehead and his face was a scarlet red as if he had spent too much time in the sun.

Feminine squeaks and unadulterated moans were clearly heard from behind the door, the song of only passion sung in disconnected notes. However, when the Imperial noble threw open the door the sight he beheld was not one he had anticipated. Instead of Sirci submissively taking the advances of sure and sturdy Logarth, where Jethro had assuredly imagined taking the young but willing flesh with nothing more than authoritative ferocity; a completely different scene unfolded. The proud noble that oversaw thousands of lives and supported the Imperium with untold industrial factories knelt before the pale pleasure slave, his bronze skin contrasting as sharply with Sirci’s silken flesh as the actions of which he was partaking. The boy had his slender hands at his somewhat flat chest, teasing his obviously erect breasts. His legs were somewhat contrapposto, the right raised a little on his toes to allow better access to the intimate flesh that lay between his thighs. Logarth had swept away the front of the dress and kept a clinging grip on the silken fabric, his right hand in a death grip around the boy’s luscious hips. Arched up on toes with his right leg, Sirci looked like he was in pure bliss. The bronze nobleman’s left arm and hand mashing into the escort’s pale thigh so that it looked like he was pressing against thick, pliable cream. As the slender youth cried out in unmanly pleasure with eyes close and salivating mouth open, Logarth was eagerly suckling on the boy’s manhood with his pink tongue occasionally darting out to swipe another wet trail along the underside of the youth’s shaft. The soft flesh looked unfitting to be on a true man, almost silk like skin coating Sirci’s precious loins and a rod that would be of little use pleasuring women. Yet now a burly noble with skin of bronze now bobbed up and down the small appendage, pleasuring the boy and seemingly eager to bring him to erection.

It must have been Jethro’s gasp that alerted the two lovers to his presence. Logarth looked up at his friend with that same hunger in his wild eyes though now a look of contentment was quickly replacing it. He came up from Sirci’s small half-erection with a pop and a slight flair of thick saliva before flashing Jethro with a grin.

“Well. If I had known you were going to join us, I would have brought some of the liquor as well. Something to add to the flavor.” He squeezed tightly at Sirci’s plump, panty flanks as he planted a passionate kiss on his inner thigh, eliciting a lusty moan from the girlish escort.

“I-I told you not to-” Jethro stuttered to form words.

“I know what I promised you and I will have you know that I am here voluntarily at Sirci’s request, albeit a very shy one.” Logarth chuckled deep in his chest. “Did you know that Sirci even wanted you to join in if you could? I told her that you would not. But look how happy she is to see you now.”

Jethro looked to see Sirci’s lust hooded eyes staring back at him, the boy’s body trembled slightly in excitement and his small shaft stiffened. His small gasps seemed the only thing that Jethro could hear as the echoed in time with his pounding heartbeat.

“I- what?” The mumble managed to get out of his dry throat, his gaze never breaking with Sirci’s own pleasured stare.

“Sirci wanted you here Jethro.” Logarth went on. “I may have coaxed her into letting out some of her tension but you are the one she is mindful of. The one who she fantasizes about as I have been kissing her. She wants you Jethro.”

The white-haired nobleman looked torn, desperately staring at the feminine escort; waiting for Sirci to say it was not true. His body a tensed rock and his own loins stirring tight in his trousers.

“Please.”

A gasped whisper was all that it took before Jethro was upon the smaller youth, his lips aflame as they firmly pressed against the escort’s own in a passionate embrace. Those same lips that had not kissed a lover since the death of his late wife now opened and closed, seeking to dominate the boy’s curved lips with his own.

Jethro could find no reason why he kissed the girlish boy. Why he desperately needed to dominate her mouth, her lips, her form. All of him. Every part submitting to Jethro like a willing servant should. Why his heart was aflame with a burning need that he had only felt in the embrace of his sweet Rebecca. How his loins arched and strained, aching to be attended to. Yet Jethro did.

The nobleman unconsciously roved his rough, large hands up and down the escort’s pale and slender form. Following all her- His curves. Memorizing every arc and slope of Sirci’s form. Running his hands over the boy’s sensitive body, even swiping over his silk covered breasts and feeling how erect they were. How close they were to the barely budding breasts of a young maiden.

Deep within his mind some part of him cried out in shame that the boy was innocent, no older than his own beloved daughter, but was overwhelmed by the intense heat and hunger that now drove him. Jethro moved behind Sirci, his hips grinding into the crevice of the escort’s cloth covered ass as Logarth resumed his work at the front. Sirci arched into Jethro’s strong, solid form. His body a trembling leaf against the nobleman. Gasping at the feeling pleasure from both sides, Sirci twisted his head to stare up into Jethro’s hungry eyes with his own bright blue jewels. The look of lustful hunger passed between them and in an instant Jethro’s mind resounded with a surprising clarity.

He saw the need within Sirci’s eyes. She wanted him truly and honestly, without shame or chastity. She hungered for his touch and the thought of him filled her mind as much as she filled his. The insignificant pleasure slave acknowledged his dilemma and his want, and knew it as well as she knew her own. And she would take all that he would force upon her without complaint or plea to stop. Sirci wanted him to take her as much as he wanted it.

The nobleman responded in kind by bucking hard into the slave’s back. Humping the small frame like some animal in heat. Together, the threesome formed some sort of immoral pillar of flesh. Writhing against one another in shear passion. Oblivious to anything save what contact rippled between them. The heat was insufferable. The hunger was untamable. And the need was unbearable.

Collapsing onto the nearby bead, the trio of lovers disassembled only to grope once again for each other. Seeking out the touch they so desired.

Jethro had shaken loose of his clothing. His bare muscular form pressed tightly against the demure Sirci. His large, throbbing shaft sliding between the soft pressed flesh of her thighs. Grinding against the panty covered ass and rubbing against Sirci’s own delicates.

While the two lovers were busying themselves with their animalistic voracity, Logarth had positioned himself in the reverse pose of his lovers. The heady nobleman was able to fully enjoy the view of Jethro’s thick shaft thrust between the pale thighs and Sirci’s own shaft strain against the underwear he wore. Without hesitation, he busied himself again with the oral lavations of his lover’s privates. All the while his own grand shaft, a 30-centimeter monster, jerked in the air.

Meanwhile, Jethro had enough of the straining cloth that bound that luscious ass from him and ripped the expensive panties asunder. Leaving only the expensive and revealing dress to give some sense of modesty. It was in that moment he had a remarkable moment of clarity in this heated madness. Twin hills of glutinous pale silk lay before him. And as the sweet soul turned to cool his outburst Jethro drew in full the sight that of his slave’s manhood. It was not a weak little thing. The shaft throbbed hard and as it twitched above Jethro’s more impressive member, the nobleman guessed it to be around 12 centimeters in length, a few centimeters short of his own 20.3 shaft. An average specimen but not something to be unproud of. And below lay two spheres wrapped in impossibly soft, smooth flesh. Jethro moved his hand to clasp one of the hairless mounds, shocked by how brutish his large hands seemed against the fair and pliant skin, and moved it to reveal a round disk wedged in between the two cheeks. He looked into Sirci’s blue-grey gems. The slave’s spittle washed mouth dripped from having given as much attention to Logarth’s need as much as the nobleman had to his own. Beneath the look of want and need there was an affirmation.

Logarth, sensing a change in the group dynamic, placed himself in alignment with the other two. Jethro jerked up, taking the pliant Sirci with him, so as he knelt on the large mattress with back straight. Before him lay Sirci the pleasure slave with ass inviting and thighs still squeezing against his hard shaft, mewling like a bitch in heat. And beneath them both, laying like a muscular morass, was Logarth with his glutes thrust up to meet Sirci’s hips. The white-haired nobleman took hold of the butt plug and gently tugged at the device until it came out with a wet pop. Quickly tossing the tool aside, Jethro looked in wonder at the smooth derriere and succulent pink passage that gaped slightly before him. The developed pucker had looked to be molded and carefully maintained. Its sphincter open slightly to give a wondrous view of light pink insides that promised a gratifying opportunity.

Already lubricated by Logarth’s lustful tongue lashings, Jethro’s manhood now rose imposing like a pillar above those pillowy hills. All it took was one look from the poor creature’s face. Submissive yet compliant. A somewhat fearful look but wholly willing.

In one mighty thrust he buried himself halfway. Sirci all but screamed at the sudden intrusion. The fullness of the live phallus stretched his insides and moved against his inner walls. Heat expanded throughout his body as he felt the unseen parts of his body roughly pushed as Jethro’s manhood shoved against them. Forcing them to surrender to their new master.

The force of the powerful thrust pushed Sirci forward, slamming his own loose erection into the welcoming and prepared hole of the nobleman beneath him. Logarth’s loose hole welcomed the slave’s intrusion with a squelching embrace as his ass seemed to ease the passage into warm, wet depths. The rumbling groan of appreciation was all the nobleman communicated in thanks.

With pain in back and pleasure in front the slave Sirci looked about ready to faint. Then Jethro began to move. Wrapping an arm around the feminine boy’s thin torso, his hand groping hard against stiff nipples and immature breasts, the nobleman held up his lover’s small frame. Thin arms braced the slave’s frame against the two immovable pillars, one on Logarth’s back and the other around Jethro’s hip. Flesh slapped against flesh and the atmosphere grew sultry. The three amorous participants began to sweat and the dew drops became a sheen on their hot skin, glowing in the dim light of the bedroom.

Thick walls kept their cacophony of moans, grunts, and groans from prying ears as the three labored in ecstasy. Jethro thrust in an out, his manhood a lubricated piston as it sought to gain further entrance to Sirci’s wet velveteen depths as they squeezed and clenched around him. The pleasure slave seemed to be enjoying herself as her boy-pussy was violated; braced against the pillar of muscle behind her. His essence inside her filled her completely. Seeking to breed her ass like a real woman. And like a real woman, Sirci keened and moaned for it. Doing her best to draw out the nobleman’s seed. Lewd sounds of hammering flesh and lubricated friction matched her mewls like strangled notes in a luscious rhapsody of pleasure. Beneath it all Logarth remained nigh motionless. Heaving great draughts of air as he took the relentless pounding from above. The boy’s light shaft pleasing his ass as he violently jerked his iron hard shaft between the pyramid hump of his legs. While Sirci’s own little cock was not enough to satisfy the nobleman, it was long and hard enough to press against his walls. And every time Jethro thrust into the boy the little shaft would twitch and bounce within his ass. Vibrating in joy at her wish being fulfilled. At Jethro filling her up and treating her as he wanted, like his woman. Taking her and making love to her as he had to his wife. Perhaps even more so.

As the three carried on, bracing into one another as they all sought after ecstasy. Jethro to make love as passionately as he could to the little Sirci. Groaning like a bull and mounting the slave’s small frame with powerful thrusts. And become more and more aggressive with every moment. The arching Sirci took every centimeter of it. Moaning as the shaft plundered his precious depths. His form coated in a slick sheen of sweat and his body vibrating at the ceaseless conquest. With back arched like a bow and breasts pressing against Jethro’s ungiving grip, Sirci begged for the nobleman to give it to him. To his credit, the ordinarily selfish Logarth asked nothing of the two lovers. He bore down on his own need with concentration. And to be sure, it was coming soon.

His sack tightened as one particularly backed thrust drove Sirci’s shaft down into the nobleman’s rear. Sparks ignited within Logarth’s bowels, his milking hand unwavering in its duty had finally drawn on primal urges. His body began tensing as he continued to draw his need forth with quicker and quicker jerks of the hand. Only with great concentration did he keep his hips from curling forward in animalistic want. Coolly, Logarth doubled his efforts.

Above him Sirci was all but done. The poor slave was near spent between a driving force and an immovable as well as pleasurable constraint. He was the leaf in the wind. The slave’s rear was dragged back by Jethro’s cock, freeing his own moderate shaft from Logarth’s accommodating hole. The slave’s left nipple was all but bruised at the rough affection Jethro had imparted through the expensive, clinging fabric of the now damp dress. He had taken to nipping at the nape of Sirci’s neck as well. The sharp affections leaving small bites like a dog marking his mate. And as soon as Jethro had finished his short withdraw from the slave’s pucker he would slam back into the wet hole with a slap and a muted splatter, driving the boy’s body back into Logarths. The slave’s hips tightly compressed between the two masses of muscles. His petite frame apparently not as robust as those of his lovers. He wailed and whimpered as he was pounded and milked with pleasure. His insides stirred incessantly as the lust dazed nobleman behind him battered his boy-pussy with singular intention. The very thought of it was too much.

Sirci managed to whine in between whimpers that he was close. Words lost on the two noblemen as they continued their debauched work. He cried. Once. Twice. Then he was undone.

The pleasure slave screamed out his release, eyes shut tight and mouth agape with tongue flailing out. His body strained as his back arched against the muscular pillar behind him. The noble’s shaft ground against the carnal spot in his ass. Liquid lightning poured through him as his being melted with pleasure. Nipples hardened as carnal certainty flooded his being. Tight ass clenching down on Jethro’s hard shaft like a woman’s pussy, Sirci came with a whimpering wail. His cock spasmed in Logarth’s ass. Small strings of white ecstasy pouring from him as the tight clenching walls of the nobleman’s sphincter milked out every last drop.

Jethro grunted at the newfound suction, his own erection pulled into climax as the wet walls contorted and slithered around his shaft. Potent seed long saved since the death of his wife poured into the pleasure slave’s ass. Claiming every niche and corner of his insides as spurt after spurt of white essence poured into him. Jethro’s thrusts turned into heaves against the boy’s ass. The final throes of his orgasm hilting into Sirci’s hips in short lunges. Sirci moaned, her hips and ass spasming at the nobleman’s finish.

Feeling the slave’s essence pour into his ass and the violent throbbing of the 12-centimeter shaft generated Logarth’s own finish. His muffled roar all but shaking the bed as he drew out seed from his mighty shaft; jerking the iron hard rod and spilling a fount of white onto the sheets. It seemed like an eternity before the nobleman had emptied his loins beneath him.

Just as Sirci was about to faint, Logarth turned. His muscled form pivoted, sliding his hips against the slaves and pushing him away. The light weight Sirci bucked to the side. Only managing to crawl out from between the two noblemen and slumping off the bed with a muffled thump.

Logarth, gifted liquor in full effect flooding the passages of his mind and calling forth the darker parts of his being, grabbed at the spent Jethro. Eyes wide with lust and smile stretched wide with madness, the nobleman hissed with anticipation. He twisted Jethro down onto the bed as he pinned one of the man’s arms behind his back. His first orgasm had no apparent effect on his virility. Still hard with veins now bulging out from the skin, his massive manhood burned with anticipation. His crazed eyes dead set on Jethro’s muscled ass and the unstretched pucker that clenched tightly.

“You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment Jethro.” The lust consumed nobleman breathed in an intoxicated breath. “But finally you are MINE to claim as I wish!”

The white-haired nobleman grunted in reply. Anger and hate filled his eyes. Yet Jethro could not deny his position was indefensible. He was completely at Logarth’s mercy. And the bronze god want-to-be would have none. With no warning the conquering shaft slipped against Jethro’s rear and buried itself against the feeble, virginal resistance. The white-haired nobleman cried out at the unfamiliar and painful intrusion only eliciting a heinous laugh from his dominator.

“Emperor your tight!” Logarth hissed as he thrust forward. Uncaring of the bludgeoning of his lover’s unprepared anus. “Just wait till I am finished with you! You’re going to be so! Loose! You will not be able to stand for a year!”

Unnoticed and unheeded the pleasure slave silently, slowly slipped out of the noblemen’s line of sight. He found a closet behind the bed with an inward turning door. Perfect. Slinking along the floor, the pleasure slave slipped inside without a sound. As he slouched against the closet wall he barred the door with several implements. It would take more than a drug fueled man with a hundred kilos on him to break it open.

The feminine boy flipped aside the front of his sweat stained dress and drew his knees up into him. A slender finger delved cautiously into his pummeled, stained depths with a squelch and withdrew slick with Jethro’s spent seed. As the willowy member pulled back out His ass weakly clenched in feeble effort. Too spent by the night’s activities to properly work. Its looseness would tighten with time.

He opened his mouth and suckled the wet digit, cooing in pleasure as the thick coagulant slid down his sore throat. _Out of sight, out of mind._ The boy giggled as he heard the pained throes of passion echoing through the door.

 _Ah._ Marahn-Marhna Sirci Ysalda Aloshi smirked as he closed his eyes and settled in his hiding place. _How the mighty have fallen._

The Acolyte fell asleep to the sounds of lust and betrayal as the noblemen debauched each other in the darkness of night. A smile of satisfaction and contentment tugging lightly on the corners of his smooth lips.

 

 

Waking in the darkness and stillness was not something the Acolyte was unused to. His internal clock woke him as it had in the days in the trenches. The difference being, this time he woke to sweet and blessed silence.

Marahn-Marhna drew his legs under him and shakily stood to his feet. It was not every day one got clobber fucked by a pair of nobles but the Acolyte did not let it bother him too much. It was time to see how his handiwork had gone with idle hands at the wheel. Marahn took great care not to make a sound as he pulled aside his make shift barricade and opened the door.

The first immediate sight was that of the bronze skinned Logarth still on the bed erect. Yet upon a more cursory look the nobleman did not breath or move. In fact, his muscles seemed to be strained in permanent flexion. Eyes wide and mouth stretched in an eerie grin. Every muscle in his body tensed up like cords of rope.

Quietly the Acolyte slipped from the closet. He crouched as he made his way over to the bed. If the nobleman was still conscious Marahn-Marhna would finish Logarth off himself. However, when the Acolyte placed a couple of fingers upon his neck there was no pulse to be felt. The noble’s skin was getting cool and was clammy with crusted streams of dried sweat.

Beneath the ridged mass was Jethro, legs splayed to either side and arms bound behind him as he lay on his back. Logarth’s hands were locked around the nobleman’s neck as his tensed fingers dug into the dead flesh. Jethro’s body showed signs aligning with the obvious death by strangulation. His skin was pale and turning dark. The nobleman’s ass was all but prolapsed out onto the bed, and there was blood on Logarth’s still hard shaft as well as the former noble’s anus. The still red liquid had been splashed slightly on the sheets beneath them. Marahn-Marhna surmised that Logarth likely roughed up Jethro too much. The friction between flesh had rubbed the anal passages raw and likely caused the internal bleeding. Regardless, Logarth had continued to fuck the white-haired noble until his insides were loose enough to be dragged out. Whether or not this was after the death by strangulation, the Acolyte could not tell. It was a moot point, but Marhna made note of it anyway.

 _That erect phallus may come in handy as an experimental device._ Marahn-Marhna thought to himself as he crawled onto the bed to get a better look at Logarth’s bloody shaft. _I’ll be sure to cut it off and preserve it when I can. But for now, let’s see how the rest of the household are doing._

He opened the door to the main room quietly like before and peered in through the crack. No sound was heard and no movement was seen. Yet the Acolyte acted with caution. Time on the battlefield had given him reason to be paranoid. Of both enemies and allies alike.

Carefully slipping the door open until it was enough for the small framed Acolyte to shimmy through, Marahn-Marhna slid into the hall. Like before he concentrated on his surroundings and moved so he would make only the faintest of sounds.

In the main room he found most of the other Imperium guests. The scene was that of terrible ecstasy.  Annabeth the mother lay on her back naked on one of the short tables, her once fair skin a patch work of bruises and bites. Her head hung loose over one side with her hair falling to the floor in a beautiful brown cascade like waterfall. At the other end her legs dangled at the knees. There was foam at her mouth and her eyes appeared to be stretched out of their sockets. She had a glazed yet content look on her face as if she had died in the middle of something. There were dried strings of semen and saliva running up and down her body. Centering around her mouth and, the Acolyte guessed, her womanhood. Logarth’s wife had likely been sexed to death and Marahn-Marhna spotted the most likely culprits.

The twin boys, Nikoli and Jefferson, lay near their mother. One had keeled over, his pose of someone in death throes, with the gifted wine beaker stuffed neck first down his throat. The youth had likely tried to down the whole beverage and though it would be best to insure not a drop was wasted. The neck had lodged in his throat and the large, round body of the glass did not allow any further entrance into Jefferson’s throat. To his credit there only looked to be a few milligrams left of liquid.

Nikoli on the other hand had sought to satisfy his thirst in a different way. His form and that of Alice the dark-haired slut where still conjoined on the floor where they had expired. Alice was on her stomach with Nikoli on top of her. It appeared they had expired from over exertion.

Only one of the twin girls, Mina, could be seen from Marahn-Marhna’s little hiding place. A power sword that had surely been given as a gift or for practice, or maybe perhaps both, was shoved down her throat. The edge barely discernable as it poked against the skin of her stomach from the inside. And on the hilt there was something wet still faintly glittering in the dim light.

Seeing that all was quiet on the home front, the Acolyte opened the door a bit further before breaching the sealed main room. No sound was made as Marhna stepped through the aftershock like a wraith of old. Carefully, he inspected each one of the corpses to ensure that they had all passed away from the mortal plane.

While Mina and Jefferson were definitively dead. The others, however, needed a closer inspection. Nikoli was a mess. When the Acolyte flipped the youth over it revealed all the burst blood vessels that had stained his stomach with red as it settled. If Marahn-Marhna would cut Nikoli open, he knew he would find all the larger arteries had ruptured from stress. Alice was in the same condition as her lover. The blood vessels in her eyes were of a scarlet red and there were black dried tears of blood staining her cheeks. Her demise seemed centered around her hips though, and on closer inspection it appeared that her first time was her last. An unusually high amount of blood had come out of her womanhood. Whether the blood vessels in her womanhood ruptured because of penetration or climax, the Acolyte could not tell.

That left the mother, Annabeth. Curvaceous and slightly alluring even in death. The Acolyte crouched at the dead woman’s abused womanhood and sniffed cautiously. Searching for that particular musk scent. Marahn-Marhna drew a little closer before stopping. Sure enough, the scent of spent seed was there. While Logarth was busy with Jethro, his twin sons had taken the woman who had given birth to them. If the blue on her finger tips was any indicator, one of them had used her mouth as she suffocated under their affections willingly. Nobles were an odd bunch.

The Acolyte found it slightly ironic that upon each of the bodies he could find a slight mark in random places. One per body. Each having the appearance of a purple bruise formed beneath the skin. But there was no mistaking the crescents nor the tailed sun-disk. A follower of Slaanesh knew better. All of them had succumbed to their desires and deep in the night the Prince of Pleasure had come whispering. They belonged to Slaanesh now. Their spirits would be used at the Chaos god’s leisure.

Looking around, Marahn-Marhna did not see any of the Dark Eldar candles he had brought with him. And there were still three occupants unaccounted for. As before, the Acolyte crept through the house toward the off-shooting rooms. Coming to a branch, he went left down the clear walled hallway. Lights on the floor being his only guide as the sun had yet to reach the height where it’s lights would shine down into the depths. Breaching the door to the solitary bubble room he discovered the blond-haired Yolinda twisted and splayed out on the floor. Around her form were dozens of shredded books and torn out pages in every open orifice she had stuffed paper sprouted like some bizarre seed of knowledge had sprouted in her stomach and had pushed its way out. There was little need to check what had caused her demise.

As the Acolyte returned to the hallway he made his way down the other branch to find an empty but orderly room. Going by how neatly everything was organized Marahn guessed this was the room belonging to Mika and Mina. He made sure that there was no person or thing hiding, let alone monitoring, in the room before leaving.

That left one room in the house unaccounted for. The one belonging to Jethro’s daughter, Mithra. Like a pail shadow, the Acolyte made his way down the last transparent corridor toward a slightly cracked door. Only a slice of light came from the abode as no sound could be heard. And no shadows flickered in front of the door. All was quiet.

Aligning his grey-blue eye with the door, Marahn-Marhna peered in. Just as before, nothing stirred. He could make out the collapsed, tanned form of Mika as she knelt on the floor with her ass in the air and face on the ground. Marhna almost squeaked with glee as he spotted Jethro’s daughter.

Platinum blond hair kept up and out of her face, the emerald-eyed Mithra was dangling in lewd juxtaposition. Across her body sheets had been knotted and wrapped tight. Her legs, arms, and torso kept elevated by the sheets tied to the ceiling. The bed ware bound both her legs to they could not extend from the knee, curled up into her stomach and connected to a series of bands around her neck so it looked as if she was sitting cross legged. Keeping one arm extended upward while the other seemed painfully wrapped behind her back with bands intertwining so that even her fingers were splayed apart. The sheets wove over her form like coiling snakes, bracing her chest in a multitude of knots and holding her hostage in their tight embrace. Mithra’s breasts were squeezed between a complex web of knots that was reminiscent of a spider’s web or a turtle’s shell and a number of knotted cords grinding against her crotch.

The Acolyte paused to admire the intricate work, and was in awe of the patience and effort one would need to endure the entire process. To wait for all the knots to slip into place. Only one truly someone with keen dedication to the art of submission and bound passion could do such. Then the slight sound of breath exhaled from nostrils and gaged mouth reached Mararhn’s ears. Unheard before, the Acolyte’s ears keened for it now. Hearing the small pants clearly now.

With a satisfied sigh, Marahn-Marhna opened the door with as little sound a possible and slipped into the room. Mika’s corpse was rather opposite of her twin sisters. Where Mina had died kneeling upright with sword thrust down her throat, her sister died on her knees with her chest and face to the ground. Her own sword buried in her bloodied point first all the way to the hilt. Even it was her first penetration, the keen blade would have torn her soft entrails fiercely. The killer edge no longer contained in protective sheath, its raw malice able to cut anything it could. However, mixed with the blood was a clearer fluid and amongst the smell of death and anguish was the slight feminine scent.

Of the ten residents of the submarine pod only one had survived the night. Bound and tied up like a butterfly in a web. Mithra’s mouth was sealed by the same sheet material, a large knot balled up as a seal between her lips. Saliva still dripped in long strings from her mouth and down her chin. Her face placid and at peace. Those emerald green eyes closed against the world, and blissfully unaware of anything as time and circumstance had passed her by. Laying trapped within her own blissful moment. The sheet bindings like a spider’s cocoon wrappings around its prey.

Marahn-Marhna Sirci Ysalda Aloshi felt slightly relieved. His party did not end the way he would have liked, even it did end more or less how he expected, with only one other person to share his burdens with. Misery loves company, or so one of his former battle buddies once said.

 _Still, I promised myself to let them make their own decisions. She will come or go of her own will._ The Acolyte bowed from the hip to Mithra’s chandelier form.

He took a moment before coming back up. _Now, back to work._

Over the next few hours the Marahn placed the deceased occupants of the submarine house to rest. He took Mika from Mithra’s room first as he did not want to disturb her. Wrapping the tanned twin in extra cloth sheets he dragged the body back into the living room. Going to Yolinda’s room he did the same for the formerly knowledge hungry reader.

Having mostly assembled the nobles, the Acolyte went about his business. Carefully drawing out the two power swords from the twins he laid the deadly blades out on the floor. As he did not have any other surgical instrument the lethal munitorum-type sword would have to do. He also secured one of the bathing rooms as well as alcohol and several large containers.

With everything set Marahn-Marhna went to work. Activating the power sword, Marahn first dissected the twin’s hearts to find each had become rumpled. Almost forming runes in the way the warped arteries were shaped. But that could wait until later. Yolinda’s mind was of great interest to the heretical youth so he simply shaved her head of all hair, pulled out the pages from her upper esophagus, and cut the whole thing off before submerging it in a chemical mixture of inedible alcohol labeled ethyl alcohol. Doing the same to for the twin sister’s hearts, the Acolyte moved on to the other twins. The sons of Logarth.

Jefferson did not seem much to write home about so to speak so Marhna left him alone. However, Nikoli was of special interest. As the Acolyte cut the youth open he took in every detail. Only bothering to inspect the major organs and how his biological systems had apparently failed. The one thing Marahn-Marhna did salvage from Nikoli was an unusually large set of kidneys and the discolored grey adrenal glands. The possibility of synthesis later was worth the harvesting.

Moving back into the bedroom, he once again gazed on the deathly pail form of Jethro and rigid Logarth in their death throes. It took a while to get the muscularly stressed Logarth off the bed with his slender frame, but Marahn prevailed in getting the giant lummox onto the floor. With careful strokes of the power sword, he nimbly dismembered the noble’s manhood and scrotum in its entirety. He even took pains to collect the prostate and some of the urinary tract and the perineum before preserving the still stiff assembly in a large container.

Finally, the Acolyte wrapped each body almost lovingly in white bed sheets until they looked as if they had been mummified. For Mika and Mina, he placed their power swords in their hands and wrapped the weapons in the same cloth as their masters until they were one.

Marahn smiled at his progress and was somewhat pleased with himself. He even offered a small prayer of thanks to Slaanesh as well as for each of the noble’s souls. The Acolyte had no misgivings. Chaos was a terrible and fickle thing. It was Chaos after all and the Imperium did not call them the Ruinous Powers for nothing. But he reasoned that their spirits at least deserved some sort of commemoration. In addition to the biological samples he harvested, Marahn-Marhna also went back through each of the rooms to find any prevalent texts that could be found. Though it was few in number as the sheer amount of political propaganda in most rendered them useless. However, some statistical annals and doctrine codices looked like they might come in handy.   

With his work done, the Acolyte arranged the bodies neatly as possible and stashed the samples taken out of sight as well as wrapped to conceal their contents. Marhna then spent the next few hours cleaning whatever rooms he could without disturbing Mithra. When all was the way it had been before chaos had descended in the form of a feminine boy slave, it was time to wake the daughter.

Thankfully, he had a candle for that. Distinguished from all the other candles by the Dark Eldar runes that spelled, as near as Marahn-Marhna could tell, ‘wakefulness’ and a blue ribbon Marhna tied at the bottom before he left.

One last time, the Acolyte ventured to the daughter’s room. Marahn-Marhna stuck a knife, edge sharp enough to cut the binding cloth, in the girl’s grasp before backing toward the door. The Acolyte carefully put the candle inside the threshold to Mithra’s room and lit the pungent incense. As the first wisp of smoke wisped from the glowing orange wick, he closed the door to a crack and silently disappeared back to the main room.

 

Mithra awoke from her blissful sleep wrapped in a constricting cocoon, a knife of liberation in her hand. Careful to cut herself down, the daughter of Jethro found herself unconcerned with her present circumstance. That the thought of waking up tied to the ceiling was something normal. Yet her memory persisted that the act itself was far from normal. The only ones who were tied up and bound were prisoners and heretics. Doomed to be judged at inquisitorial tribunals. Never the less, Mithra felt at peace with the prospect of being bound in tight fastenings. The thought even made her heart race.

It was in the echoing throb of her own pulse that she noticed. A lack of sound. Of lively. Of anything save the muted roar of the ocean surrounding the submarine abode. And there was a faint smell of pungent smoke like the burning of rose petals.

A small cylindrical candle sat smoldering with an orange glow right inside her threshold. Its wisping smoke already creating a thin smog throughout her room. Mithra gazed in slight wonderment at the pool of wax that had oozed onto the floor. She remembered the girlish boy had brought candles with him and had lit them throughout the main room at Annabeth’s behest. And there was also the liquor. That oh so smooth and warming spirit that seemed to swell within Mithra’s body with only one sip. Last she had seen the Logarth’s twins were guzzling down their seconds while nuzzling up close to their mother.

Which brought her back to the present. No sound. From previous encounters Mithra knew that excess of young males equaled quite a bit of vibrant communication. Yet she had not heard so much as a whisper.

Mithra pulled off her damp clothes and pulled on a new tunic shirt and breeches before heading out of her room. The air seemed fine, circulation vents working properly, yet there still was a vacuum of activity. The evidence of absence. However, when she entered the main room it became evident why.

Eight white forms wrapped carefully in cloth and bundled up tight like mummies lay in on the floor with their feet pointing two the transportation pod. Mithra felt as if she should be sick. But nausea escaped her. Her stomach refused to clench and her mind did not seize up. The Daughter of Jethro looked upon the bodies of her friends and family with only feeling her heart as it beat with agony. Tears came unbeckoned to her eyes and slipped like hot rain down her dry cheeks. But no cry left her lips. No scream of pain or horror ripped from her throat.

As the Imperial noblewoman silently stepped forward she noticed the girlish boy kneeling with back straight at the foot of the bodies. He respectfully positioned himself at the exit door with hands on his lap and his head bowed. If the servant did notice Mithra he gave no indication. The extravagant dress he wore now was rumpled and his golden hair bound up in a short ponytail. Not even this seemed to detract from the puzzling beauty that emanated from the girlish boy who waited with closed eyes.

Mithra walked over to the bodies noting each was placed according to family. Logarth, Annabeth, and the twins Jefferson and Nikoli were easy enough to spot. Then came Yolinda and Alice, the twins Mika and Mina with the outline of their precious swords bound with them, and finally her father Jethro. A lonely sob finally quaked from Mithra’s mouth. The orphaned daughter slowly stumbled forward to kneel at her father’s feet. She wailed her agony beneath waves of a tranquil ocean. A little speck that had lost everything that had been her world.

After what seemed to be hours of grief, Mithra gave a shuddered breath. “Did you do this?”

“No.” Came the calm and clear reply.

Red eyed and sorrow stained, Mithra turned to the pail girlish boy. “Why?”

It was not why it had been done, why it had occurred, why anything. It was simply why. A human question so long forgotten and often not spoken in the Imperium of Man.

Blue-grey eyes opened and stared back. No fear, no shame, no hate nor passion. Only a slight bit of regret and sadness showed within their depths. “Because it was what all of you chose.”

“What we chose?” Mithra closed her eyes and her brow furrowed. What did the boy mean?

“You chose to let me in. You chose to partake of the wine and candles. You chose to delve into pleasures outlawed by Imperial creed. You chose.” The one called Sirci replied. “Post hoc ergo propter hoc.”

The young noblewoman’s emerald eyes widened. _High Gothic? From a servant? The tongue of nobles and ecclesiarch spoken from the mouth of a lowly retainer?_

“Are you saying we are at fault for this?” Mithra’s voice shook a little. _Just who am I talking with?_

“I am not the cause if that is what you are asking. I am merely the catalyst.” He pointed to each of the bodies and to Mithra. “It was by the consent and decisions of each of you that led to this outcome. I have by no means forced a conclusion or consequence upon this house. The reason for this lies with the individuals.”

“You shall not!” Mithra cried. “You are the one to blame!”

Sirci calmly shook his head almost saddened by the accusation. “No. Whatever befell each of you was of your own making. The only part I played was the invitation of such. Just as a door can be opened if closed, a door can be closed if open. Though I do sympathize with your plight. Brevis ipsa vita est sed malis fit longior.”

“Our life is short but made longer by misfortunes.” Mithra translated out loud, turning back to her father. “How can you sympathize with me?”

“Nos sumus filii belum. Sed pulvis et umbra sumus. Tanta stultitia mortalium est, et matres, et Abominatio.” The boy simply replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

 _We are the sons of war. Yet we are dust and shadow. Such is the foolishness of mortals and the horror of mothers._ Mithra’s eyes widened even more. “Wh-what brings you here?”

“Many things. Least of which would be greed. This planet reeks of it. The second would be that I am have been in need of shore leave for a very long time.” Even though he had not moved, Sirci’s presence permeated throughout the main room.

Mithra shied away, clutching at her chest as if to shield herself even though his words seemed to entice her. “And what are you to do now?”

“The better question my lady,” He looked her in the eye, his own blue-grey orbs soft and concerned. “Is what will you do?”

At the slight confused look upon Mithra’s face, Sirci explained. “You are an Imperial noble. You have been living in this submarine abode for a few weeks now. All others are dead where as you, Mithra daughter of Jethro, have lived.”

The words had the proper effect. Reality was slowly dawning on her mind.

“In truth you could escape this. Being branded a heretic is not something nobles are accused of often I would imagine. Though I do not have much experience in the matter myself. You could return to your old life and live out your days as a servant of the Imperium.” The strange girlish boy seemed quite calm about all of this.

Mithra hesitated to ask. “And what would happen to you?”

Another shrug. “I would be framed for the death of all those here and whatever else the Imperial courts decide to shove down my throat. Then I will be tortured for years until I either die or submit to the Emperor’s mercy. The latter of which would end with my head rolling off into some forsaken chamber pot.”

“But why?”

“Simple.” The self-purported soldier gave a genuine smile that lightly curved the edges of his lips. “I believe you should make a choice. For 12 years, I have been the Imperium’s expendable fodder without one say in anything I have done. If given the opportunity I would like others to make the choices I have never been able to make. If you walk away from this that will be your choice. I can even take blame for the deaths of the others if you like.”

His eyes became hard and the smile disappeared into calm impassivity. “But know this daughter of Jethro, never again will you feel. Your life will be built on the dark hole that is a lie. And one day it will consume you on your deathbed.”

The accusation hung heavy in the air as Mithra bowed over her father’s body. Platinum hair veiled her face from sight. “And the alternative?”

“To make sacrifice mean something.” Sirci quietly responded. “Though think carefully before accepting. If you come with me you turn your back on the Imperium of Mankind. They will not be so kind as I am, nor considerate. Where I am headed is a place of dizzying pleasure and treacherous ecstasy. If you came with me you would experience things you could not currently comprehend. I will show you worlds and systems beyond imagination. Life will take on many new shades and you will have chances to experience what you want. However, the cost will be high. To journey with me means to forfeit your spirit. You will have to do unpleasant things to survive, most of them you will most likely not enjoy. Upon your death, you will be the plaything of the denizens of the warp. Tossed and turned between terrible beings for eternity.”

“You do not gloss your words well.” Mithra chuckled despite herself.

He gave a solemn nod. “I do not want to betray you or give you false notions Mithra. My path is already laid out. Whether I succeed or fall short is yet to be determined.”

“You would give me this choice?” She asked. There was a hint of hope in her voice or perhaps a strain of disbelief.

“I would have you make it your own. Yours it will be. I will have no part of it. I have given you the consequences of either as far as I foresee them.” The false servant stood and went to the back of the main room, coming back with a large bundle carefully balanced in his arms. “I will wait in the exit hall for your decision.”

“Before you leave, what is your name?”

The pail girlish boy turned. His dress was rumpled and unkempt. Even though he wore a kind smile on his lips, his eyes shown with worry but not for himself. It shocked Mithra when she realized it. He looked alone.

“I have many names. Some old and some new. I was once known as Guardsman Brat. But you may call me Marahn-Marhna.” He smiled gently before exiting through the door.

He left Mithra with what remained of her friends and family. The girl pondered his words as she stroked the bindings where her father’s hands would be. _He is three years younger than I and yet he has gone through so much to become this. A deserter from the Astra Militarum is heretical. Punishable on sight. And yet he walks as if free. What of me? If I went back to the old life would anything change? Will this to be my fate? Slowly succumbing to guilt and uselessly blaming him till the end?_

She looked down on Jethro’s covered face. “What would you want for me father?”

But there was no answer. She was alone, just like Marahn-Marhna. If she went with the strange boy she would not be alone. His company promised that. And she would be able to unleash her feelings without restraint when she wished. If she blamed the soldier she would be chained to the lie for the rest of her life. Emperor forgive her but it would constrict her. Her existence would be bound to that of the Imperium. A crushed cog in a giant machine.

Mithra placed a kiss on her father’s head and stood, opening the door to the pod. Loyal to his word, Marahn-Marhna sat gazing up at the swirling myriads of fish and sea life surrounding his glass world. Her presence did not seem to bother him that much. He waited patiently for her words.

The platinum haired daughter spoke, her emerald eyes keenly measuring the stranger who had walked in her door. “What will you do with the bodies?”

“It depends on your decision.” He watched the fish for one moment longer before looking at Mithra. “I would like to bury them if at all possible but if you insist on returning to the Imperium of Man then I will have to set a stage. Make it appear as though I was initiating some ritual.”

Mithra nodded and asked her other question. “What happened to you? What made you choose this life?”

The boy’s gaze turned back to the marine life. His eyes hardening and softening as memories flickered through his mind at unknowable speeds. “Let me answer your question with another question.” Marahn’s voice was hard but not cruel, crushed beneath 12 years of horrifying circumstance. “Does the Emperor protect?”

The young noblewoman nodded though not in agreement. She understood the implication quite well. If the god Emperor of Mankind did truly protect then why did his people suffer? Looking at the lonely youth, Mithra saw it was that same question that burned within him.

She knew the answer but asked anyway. “Does he?”

“No.” Marahn-Marhna shook his head sadly. “He does not.”

“Whom will you turn to if not the Emperor of Mankind?”

He pulled one of the dress straps from his shoulder and let it fall far enough to reveal his slender chest. Where his collar bone met his chest a purple rune marked the boy’s allegiance. “Prince of Pleasure, the ruinous power of Chaos known as Slaanesh.”

Mithra was slightly disturbed at the claim and yet in awe at how Marahn-Marhna was at peace with it. “And what is your intention?”

Pulling the strap back over his slender shoulder, Marahn smiled. “That is for me to know and you to find out.”

The daughter of Jethro nodded. “Very well then.”

“You will join me?” He asked hesitantly. The hope for company evident in his voice.

“I will.”

He stood with a smile and bowed. “Mithra, daughter of Jethro, welcome. I will do my utmost to aid you and promise to lead where ties will not forever bind.”

She knelt before him. “I, Mithra, daughter of Jethro Faust, accept your invitation of adventure and accompaniment, and swear my allegiance to you, Marahn-Marhna, as my guide from this point forth.”

“So may it be.” Marahn-Marhna spoke and lifted Mithra back to her feet. There were tears in his eyes as he embraced her. “Welcome to the pack.”

They held each other for several moments before separating. The two souls vibrant with joy.

Her new existence fresh, Mithra wondered. “Do I give my spirit to Slaanesh as well?”

Marahn shrugged at the question as if it was of no big concern. “At the appointed time of your choosing. You can also dedicate yourself to one of the other Ruinous Powers. All of them. Or even none of them if you so wish. I would not want to force the decision on you.”

The new follower smiled. “Then I will follow your example and offer my spirit to Slaanesh.”

He nodded. There was a slight twinkle in his eye. Something that looked to be relief or happiness. “Very well. But I must warn you as I have before, this path is not for the faint of heart. It is dark with many twists and turns. If one is not careful they can become lost and I am afraid the most I can do for you is guide you in the right direction. Choosing where you will go is your choice.”

Mithra seemed content with that. The Acolyte picked up his bundle and put it as gently as he could in the pod. Next, with Mithra’s permission, he began putting the bound bodies into the pod as well. Carefully placing each to make sure they would not bounce around when they ascent.

As he labored, Marahn asked questions of his new accomplice. The nature of Reth and how things operated. If there was something he wished to know he sought it out using the memories and senses of his disciple. Nothing was left to chance. Everything from Inquisitional forces, including the ‘star gazers’ known as the Tyrantine Cabal, to the Adeptus Ministorum and the Adeptus Famulous of The Order of the Eye, a rigid Adeptus Sororitas order focusing on court dealings. When Marhna showed the noble a map she was able to give him an in-depth history of some of the systems themselves. Slowly, Marahn-Marhna was forming a plan.

However, it would require some other things first. The pair of deviants rose to the surface as the sun reached mid-day. One by one the white bound bodies were brought out of the iron hull. And one by one they were laid to rest beneath the shaded palms. Marahn-Marhna waited patiently for Mithra to say her prayers, having no knowledge if they would be of any use or not. When the sky started to darken, Mithra stood. Her duty done. Together the two began their walk up the island hills toward the sheltered caves.

Before the moons rose to shed their light on the archipelago, the pair had made it back to the grotto. Guiding his companion along the safe path as he went, the Acolyte welcomed Mithra Faust into his nest with him. In the dark shelter they plotted together. They schemed of the coming months and years. The Acolyte would never tell his destination, but welcomed Mithra to join him to find out for herself.

The trap was set, and a few days later a signal was sent over the Vox. A small, insignificant little thing. Harmlessly calling for assistance from a visiting pair of noble families. Naturally the Planetary Defense Force sent only a few of their people to deal with whatever problem the Administratum had. How much trouble could the nobles have gotten themselves into anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The death of Mika and Mina (how they died) was intentionally symbolic. One gave her voice (in some cultures the essence of self comes from their name or that an individual voice can have great impact in the world) to the Imperium and the other gave her womanhood (the essence of birth and new life, and her identity as a willing proliferator) to the Imperium. Though whether this was a sacrifice received or even for the Imperium is up for debate.  
> As for the others, I believe I spell it out in the descriptions of how they died.


	4. Exodus Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noble Houses have fallen. Daughters left orphaned. Who will rise from the ashes to reach for the stars?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish I could copy and paste the EXACT text from Word Doxc. It gives the story a more definitive feel.

Chapter 4: Exodus thoughts

 

 

Sabrina Praxin bounced at the helm of the fast water craft. She had been on routine patrol, if one could call going solo because the ass that was one’s partner bailed because they were ‘tired’ routine, when a command port had called her over the ship’s Vox telling her to head to an island to the far south of her quarter. According to the order a couple of families were in need of some assistance of sorts. No other answers were given and the following silence spoke to the unsaid order that she was to go with no questions asked.

The Imperial Guardswoman’s slight blue-purple eyes flickered in annoyance. Her one-sixteenth Cadian heritage was on her father’s side while her dark blue-black hair and fiery temperament was from her mother. Her cap currently kept her short bangs off the left side of her face. Sabrina was never one for growing out her hair long, preferring to keep it short. When she had joined the Imperial Guards she made a habit of buzzing down the entire right side and keeping the left in a pixie cut. It was functional and what she privately considered ‘attractive’ though not many other women shared her sentiment. One of the few had been a female commissar who said it was ‘one of the best defenses against grappling and hair getting in one’s face’. It was not a compliment.

Out of frustration Sabrina rubbed her nose, slightly bent from the time she had gotten into a fist fight with another recruit during training. She hunched her short 175 cm form down so that her face would not catch as much spray that was whipping over the front of the boat. Sabrina hated running errands for the Administratum but at the same time it was her duty. Nothing could change that. As a small act of rebellion, the Imperial Guardswoman loosened her cap and enjoyed the wind as it weaved through her hair.

When she arrived at the island it was well past midnight. The only thing that was to be seen was the glittering beaches and the faint flashes of lightening on the horizon. Carefully, Sabrina pulled the patrol boat close to shore and dropped both anchors before hopping out. Her lithe body worked over 13 years in the Imperial Guards had made her lean and tough.

Her original posting at the age of 14 was on Luggnum with the Sewer Rats 3rd Light Infantry, though she was not one herself. The harsh mining conditions and occasional bout with tunnel filled xenos were deadly, but efficient school room. In the mines, she learned comradery, discipline, patience, and respect. But Sabrina never thought that one of the overseers would be so stupid enough to send her to Reth as some armed servant. Never the less, the Guardswoman endured. Her day brightening up the most when she sent packages bought with her pay of Throne Gelts to her friends in the trenches. In turn they would send her a letter back or a picture, censored by the Inquisition and approved by the Commissar of course. Their presence, even in the smallest bit, gave her peace.

Peace that helped her deal with stupid ass nobles and their stupid ass parties with their stupid friends and fucking stupid mistakes. Sabrina breathed a prayer to the Emperor to help her keep calm. Last time she was called out to assist was when one of the nobles had broken an Aquilla Lander and a tech-priest was called in just to soothe the machine spirit.

“Just hope these uptards aren’t the same as the last batch.” Sabrina grumbled under her breath as she waded through the shallows. She grabbed the speaker for the Vox transmitter and reported back to the broadcast connection. It would reach the all the nearest bases including her own. “AP-497 Guardsman Praxin, Unit 28703, responding to Administratum request of support on island no. 98. Will take estimated 24 hours to designate problem. AP-497 will call if time variance is altered.”

There was a faint hiss and a voice responded back over the Vox merely for protocol’s sake. “AP base-port no. 4, we copy your call Guardsman. AP base-port no. 4 will relay and dispatch replacement. Emperor Protects.”

“Emperor Protects.” Sabrina sighed as she bit back the aggravation of her rank.

On Luggnum she had advanced to Sargent because of her abilities to coordinate a group efficiently. Nothing large scale, just a squad or two of Guardsmen. As soon as she was transferred to Reth her rank was bumped back to Guardsman. Though Sabrina did not mind too much. She would rather be a rat in the low ranks than one of those in the upper ranks that bickered back and forth.

Her patrol boat had a reasonably shallow draft and would keep afloat for a few hours. But something seemed off. The darkness of the island was a bit too foreboding. Sounds of the winds and waves echoed with the hums of nightlife. The slight chirping and clicking of Nautiline, the swoosh of a disturbed parrot, the songs of frogs and various other insects. Sabrina had never personally visited this island. To her it was a spot on a map that was somebody else’s patrol route. But if the time she had been on Reth was any indication something felt off. All seemed well as nature thrummed with life, even at night. Yet there was something unmistakably wrong. An eerie aura had settled in the night like some unwelcome animal that had snuck into the house.

Taking her Preysense Goggles, the only thing she managed to keep from her stint in the Luggnum, Sabrina broke from the heavy waves and trotted up the beach. As she approached the intimidating air seemed to dissipate the further inland she went until it had all but disappeared among the trees. Though she put on the goggles, Sabrina did not see anything different appear amongst the vegetation. In fact, all the usual suspects grew louder. The birds, insects, amphibians, and hidden animals raised their calls in the night.

With the sounds ringing in her ears Sabrina did not notice that she was getting hot and sleepy until she accidently walked into a tree. The rough contact from head to groin, especially around her hips, woke her up a bit but also grasped at the strange want to against something. Something hard and rough. Something to relieve an entirely too natural itch in her pipes. The well-disciplined Guardswoman shook off the feeling and continued her march, now at an incline because of island no. 98’s spiral terrain.

But the further she went into the woods the further the foreign sensations ate at her consciousness. The tropical night could not displace the heat she felt. Nor did the racket keep drowsiness from slowly shutting down her mind. There was a faint scent lingering on the air.

Sabrina faintly recognized the smell of the Ghostfire flower before crumpling to the jungle floor. Her eyelids drooped and breathing made her feel heavy. There was a feeling of breath on her face, the scent of bitter fruit rind filled her nostrils, and a yellow glowing figure tinged in pale white and pink buzzed in her fading vision.

A voice rippled at the edge of her conscious, a faint melodious and soothing to the spirit. “You show promise Paxrin, truly a fitting specimen. Wandering in her at the beck and call of your masters like a good little dog.”

Sabrina felt her loins clench at the last word. Though she did not know why the implications made her wet and hot.

“However, as you are ours by right of capture we will do with you as we please.”

She let out a small moan not knowing herself if it was one of pleasure or rebellion.

“But I do not want you to think ill of me so I will make you a deal. If you can endure our good graces for the next four days then we will set you free. Otherwise you are ours to keep. Understood?”

Sabrina did not have the chance to nod or shake her head as she was smothered in darkness, a musty cloth covering her eyes, nose, and mouth. Dragged deeper into the black jungle the deafening chatter of night life seemed to grow louder. The Guardswoman fell asleep as the pair of deviants hauled the unconscious protector of Reth up to their grotto.

In truth, the Acolyte and Mithra never wanted to corrupt or turn the Guardswoman. They just wanted to have some fun. In the former captain’s cabin they strung up Sabrina Paxrin like she was some animal about to be gutted. Though not quite. The Acolyte brought out most of the toys he could find in the ship, at least the ones that would not cause too much bodily harm, and went to work. It was only a minute before the Guardswoman regained consciousness, blindfolded and only one toe on the ground as she was skillfully tied up in silk cord, and only a minute more before she started to struggle at the skillful hands of Mithra and Marhna. They were the wind itself, ebbing and shifting across her body. The chilled environment did nothing to stop the trio from breaking into a sweat as the two heretics worked to bring Sabrina to ecstasy. As the Acolyte gently kneaded her average sized bust Mithra roughly ate out the lowly Imperial Guardsman’s pussy. Her tongue lashed back and forth, side to side, up and down, inside and out as her teeth gnashed open and closed around her victim’s nethers, but never once biting. The noblewoman’s face was mashed against Paxrin’s cunt and her hands jerked roughly at the carefully constructed web she had weaved. A tug here or there would tighten around the Guardswoman’s sensitive areas, and to be sure, Mithra made full use of them. She played the poor Sabrina like a worn-out fiddle. Clenching and squeezing every last drop out of her. Working her like a limp puppet. All Sabrina could do, blind to the dark world around her and constricted amongst an unseen web, was moan and gasp and whimper.

Soon she was a shuddering mess on the edge of climax, her legs quivered as her nethers all but gushed clear fluid, her toes curled as she bit her lip against a whimper, and her belly spasmed in preparation for what was soon to come. But it never did. The two self-taught lovers never allowed her to reach that sweet abyss. Instead they left her entirely, hot and horny with nothing but the air to caress her. Sabrina moaned in horror and agony as she quivered in the ropes like a moth caught in a web. She was left with nothing. A feather whisked back and forth in the wind as her body came down from the hedonistic affections. Her body began to ache as it realized the position she was in was not entirely comfortable and was expending energy. Muscles began to tense.

And then the caresses began again.

On and on for hours it went. Marhna and Mithra would bring the guardswoman close to climax and then abandon her on the edge of her release. Only shifting her around to tie her up in a different position. All three were drenched in sweat and their touch had become a bit rougher. Sabrina could no longer tell the difference between a hand and a mouth. There might be fingers up her womanhood or it could be a could be a cock. The Guardswoman did not know. Everything was aching pain and pleasure. Her world was balanced on binding rope and sweat slicked touches. She cried out and begged for them to continue but it fell on unhearing ears. The pair would draw out every inch of pleasure they wanted from the woman and they would do it their way.

Just as Sabrina thought she was going to collapse from the exhaustive attentions she felt the roiling of her loins again. The constant but unfinished caresses of her nethers had left her a bit sore but the Acolyte had brought out some lubricant and continued. As her body betrayed her yet again the Guardswoman felt herself draw closer to climax from the vigilant touches of her invisible lovers. She knew she would not receive that one precious pearl she so desired. That final step as her body would fly, but still she groaned and pissed herself in pleasure despite of it. Even now she could not deny the lewd attentions. How they made her want and ache for more. How she would have loved to stay forever like this, even if she never finished. An endless life of agony, strung up like a puppet caught in string and never able to finish.

But as she neared her end, the Guardswoman faintly noticed the pressing fingers and the tightening ropes and the slathering mouths did not stop. The closer she got the more they seemed to work to get her there. In the back of her mind Sabrina Paxrin knew they would not let her go but she wanted it anyway. She wanted their rough and unfinished loving. She screamed for them to continue. Blasphemous curses flew out of her mouth, urging them on as they sped up their calculated caresses. Her pussy was all but nub with sensation as a mouth sucked and licked at her clitoris. It wept as something stroked in an out of her overworked depths. She could no longer tell if it was fingers, a cock, or an arm. All she could feel was how it pressed against her walls and threatened to crush her g-spot. Her nipples felt like they were a foot long as hands snapped at them and fingers pinched, pulling them down until Sabrina cried in pleasured pain. Her c-cup breast squeezed between the binding ropes to puff them out from her chest until it felt like she was being milked. A mouth even spared the time to collect the sweat from her writhing and rippling stomach as climax quickly approached.

However, this time was different. This time they did not stop.

A scream ripped from Sabrina’s sore throat as her body seemed to tear itself apart. Pleasure ripped through every nerve of her being as the administrations continued. Her bowels spasmed as her body twitched and her toes curled. She mewled like an animal in heat as she felt her nethers gush whatever remaining water she had in her body out and she could almost swear her breasts began to leak milk. The exhausted Guardswoman groaned as she was slowly eased down from her first climax of the night. Her lover’s fingers and mouths becoming more soft in their strokes until it was only like a small drop of water rippling in a pond.

Before Sabrina could murmur her thanks, those same caresses began again. The Guardswoman cried tears of joy and pain. Her mind now set only on the pleasure she was given. The smell of flowers and tropical fruit swirled around her as the unseen hands worked to bring her to another climax.

The Acolyte and Mithra worked from midnight to sun up. Learning all about how to give pleasure to their toy. When Paxrin looked to be exhausted they made her drink some water, which the Guardswoman chugged down by the canteen, and began again after a few minutes. The self-taught lovers each analyzed not only how to bring their pet’s body to ecstasy but also how to make it more pleasurable. Her week spots becoming apparent and they would pounce on them when they thought it would give an interesting advantage. The pair also learned what they themselves preferred in lovemaking. Their styles manifesting themselves as their worked continued in cohesion with one another and a system evolved.

As morning rose the Dark Eldar ship’s notified the lovers of the time and the lovemaking reached one last climax before ceasing entirely. The Guardswoman looked like her spirit was a frayed rope. She would never be the same after the night she had with these two lovers. As Mithra and Marahn slowly let her down and unbound her, Sabrina lay still on the floor. Her body overtaxed with the night’s events that she was little more than a drooling, quivering mass of nerve bundles and twitching muscles. They gave the still blindfolded Paxrin water and left the room. A single candle wisped it’s fumes like incense on the floor as they left. The Guardswoman dreamt of pleasurable days and nights as she slowly regained her strength.

 

It was midday before Sabrina woke up under the shade of a palm tree. The bright sun shone through the tropical canopy and the chitters of Nautiline rang from unseen pools in the underbrush. Her head throbbed as if she had too many libations the previous night and her muscles felt like she had gone through a Commissar’s purification beating ten times over. But there was no mistaking that ache that was deeper than flesh. It gripped her insides as she flexed her toned abs and breathed. There was no denying that throbbing memory of being so filled then feeling empty.

Groaning as she sat up, Sabrina checked her gear.

“It’s all there.” A melodic voice seemed to whisper on the wind.

She painfully turned her head to see a pail girl with golden blond hair standing behind her. The girl had a somewhat saucy look about her. Adolescent breasts perked out of her cyan colored tube top and a loose-fitting vest was all that kept her obvious washboard abs from view. Her long, slender legs were covered in loose fitting saggy pants. The smirk on her face was echoed by mischief in her eyes. There was a purple rune of some sort on between her collar bone and her chest but Sabrina was too tired to make it out. A hooped earing of gold hung from her left ear and it almost tinkled as she tilted her head cutely to the side. There was something about her that screamed tomboy.

“We made sure everything was in order, just the way you came in.” The strange girl spoke again, her voice like a spring wind bringing the scent of flowers. “You endured for four days, and as promised you are free to leave Guardswoman Paxrin.”

Sabrina could only nod as she stood up shakily. Her body screaming in torment as her sore muscles tried to ease back into some position of comfort. Memories were muddled but she vaguely did recall something about the night, or nights, before. Something about enduring for four days and they would set her free. But only if she endured. Had she really?

Taking one step was painful enough as the Guardswoman attempted to start down the slope to the beach. But a deeper ache throbbed within her. That persistent itch, squelching between her thighs as memories of the erotic night before began to dribble back into her mind. And the more she thought about them the more her uniform grew wet at the pants. The throbbing grew to a dull ache that pounded with every beat of her heart, begging to be sated just once more.

She knew it was possibly the worst decision she had ever made but she would never know unless she asked.

Sabrina turned, wincing at the ache of her muscles and the soreness of her nethers, and called after the disappearing tomboy. “Hey!”

The figure turned, mostly hidden by the brush between them. She still wore that smirk on her lips. Almost as if-.

“Yes?”

“What happened last night.” Sabrina blushed and looked to her feet. “Could you, um-”

The strange girl was in front of her before she knew it. Silent like a shadow as she leaned forward. Long, thin fingers delicately stroked the Guardswoman’s flushed neck as the shorter girl smiled gleefully.

“Yes?”

“I just mean, could you-um-y’know. Possibly do that-um-.” Sabrina stuttered, shifting her eyes up and away as the blond stepped within a hairsbreadth of full contact.

“Do what exactly my good Guardswoman?” A wet, warm tongue licked up Sabrina’s throat to her jawline. Hot breath teased her face.

The Imperial Guardsman Sabrina Paxrin look down into those blue-grey eyes with pained want.

“I want more. Please.” She whimpered. Her body held up only by the will of this blond mistress and her soft touch.

“Very well then.” The tomboy hissed.

The smaller girl thrust her body up into Sabrina’s, grinding her thigh against the Guardswoman’s nethers. Thin fingers sharply grasped her throat and thumbed her jawline as the other hand darted around and down her back to roughly squeeze Sabrina’s ass.

“As you asked, so we shall give.”

Sabrina could now make out the symbol on the tomboy’s chest. A circle connected to an upturned crescent by a line, bisected by a downward turned crescent. Somehow the look of it made her wetter as the tomboy’s thigh ground between her own.

“Shall we?” The pleasing touch was gone as the blond walked up the slope, flashing Sabrina a smirk over her shoulder.

With a dumb smile on her face, Sabrina Paxrin followed after her up the hill.

 

That day AP base-port no. 4 was notified that Unit 28703 would be spending more time on the island as the nobles were in need of assurance. However, the Sabrina Paxrin had fallen in with heretics. Ones that sought a way off planet and she was all too willing to oblige them.

They reviewed everything they knew and shared information. Sabrina was shocked to learn of her lover’s histories. One a former Imperial Guardsman like herself and the other an orphaned noblewoman unwilling to bow to the Imperium. She guessed their ages at twelve and fourteen approximately, but it astounded her the level of maturity and intellect Marahn-Marhna demonstrated. For one so young he was truly gifted, but guarded the fact carefully.

It also shocked Sabrina that of the three she was the tallest and oldest standing at 175 cm and 54 kilograms, most of it lean muscle. Where as Mithra maxed out at 170 cm 44 kilograms, and Marahn-Marhna the Acolyte at 165 cm with 43 kilograms of pure muscle and bone.

However, there was no mistaking who was in charge. The Acolyte never missed a moment, his eyes always roving over the map Sabrina had brought up with them. Marahn-Marhna asked her about the waterfront bases, military barracks, patrol schedules, anything relevant he could think of. Even rumors were discussed.

Before long they had formulated a plan that was to Marahn-Marhna’s liking. It involved a great deal of risk but well worth the effort. Fortunately, there were multiple fail safes in case of parts of the plan backfiring.

The newly formed trio splint, the Acolyte and Mithra were dropped off at one of the larger archipelagoes while Sabrina made for the spaceport docks. With a little extra cargo and a wicked smirk.

 

Marhna moaned as he gently bounced up and down on the old man’s lap. His own erection flopped and leaked as his stomach rippled, pale skin flexing over tight muscle. The two of them, the nobleman and he, were alone in the circular library chambers. At least the only people that was.

A hum echoed in the air as metallic wings tinkled like windchimes with every wing beat. The infantile blobs of flesh and robotics was not to be confused with living persons. Though one could easily mistake them for one. The love angel types, both male, floated around on anti-grav generators and singing in soft melodic voices echoing from fabricated voice boxes. Marahn-Marhna had seen them before as an Inquisitor had once visited his camp in the time he had been a Guardsman. The Inquisitor was heralded by servo skulls and a flight of cherubs. They were more machine than flesh and rumor had it that they were vat cultivated tissue with nerves grown around machine parts. Little more than an advanced machine toy for the Ecclesiarch and well to do of the Imperium to play with.

Blue-grey eyes warily glanced at the two cherubs as they spurted pleasure inducing pheromones into the air, invisible to the normal or naked eye. Yet they were there. The Marahn-Marhna’s own inspired lustfulness was evidence of that.

Keeping his mask of pleasure on his face, the Acolyte patiently waited for the old man to reach his end. Kylax Adnromidez was a man of great power on Reth and of greater influence. He was a man that looked to be in his eighth decade with white hair retreating from his scalp. His seat back was diagonally positioned so he would not strain himself and so his great fatty girth did not prohibit the Acolyte’s performance. His wrinkled, leering face was studded with metal tubes and wires. Various implants and enhancers that were installed over the years in service of the Imperium of Mankind. However, the looked on his face said more than necessary. All his staff were male with the exception of one old lady who stayed in the kitchen out of sight. And Kylax had been more than willing to accept the prospect of a willing pleasure slave with no questions asked. If he had to guess, Marahn-Marhna would most likely say that the noble had diddled the cherubs when he had nothing else to abuse. Using the two flesh machines as toys was probably the least disgusting of his sins.

However, this stage of the plan was essential. And all that was left was to finish the act. Kylax had already spilled all the information the Acolyte needed, and a little more. It was not so much that his tongue was loosened by seductive wiles, but rather that he was quick to defend his pride and boast of all his holdings. Including the Asylum of Saint Vero.

And he felt like he was just about to pop. The Acolyte worked harder to bring Kylax to finish. His succulent ass coiling tightly against the knobbed and wire haired phallus. It was an interesting experience to say the least. One worth experimenting with later. The nobleman grunted deep within his barrel chest as his wrinkled scrotum tightened. Useless seed spurted in several thick blobs into Marhna’s rear as he pretended to receive pleasure from the semen alone.

The Acolyte would savor the memory for later. As the noble Kylax sat panting, Marahn quickly stuffed a bundled napkin in to the man’s mouth and jammed a small wooden shank into his left eye. It pierced the pericardial jelly with sharpened ease and shot into the brain where the carefully placed notches grabbed easily at the grey matter. With jerking torques the Acolyte stirred the shank violently while his other hand shoved against Kylax’s lower jaw to keep his mouth from opening, pinning the nobleman’s head against the back of the chair. It only took a few spasming jerks and a long muffled scream before the former Kylax Andromidez sat dead in his chair with the Acolyte still nude on his lap.

Calmly reaching for his robe on the floor, the Marahn-Marhna took out two more slivers and proceeded to plunge them in. One of silver he dug into the right eye. One of iron he planted ad the bridge of the nose and heaved in. Finally, he took out the Dark Eldar Wych knife and carved an eye into the nobleman’s forehead. Once he was done the Acolyte carefully pulled himself off the dead man and pulled Kylax’s pants back up. With the now limp cock cleaned and stuffed back in his buttoned-up clothes it appeared as if he just been stabbed. A little superficial binding around his wrists and arms, and it seemed that an entirely different crime had occurred.

Marahn-Marhna waited until the butler type cherub appeared. The chubby nude flesh-machine hummed in on superficial wings and began rearranging the room. His basic commands were to clean after ‘business’ was concluded and escort the two love angel types out. While the bundle of flesh and wires was flying around, Marahn-Marhna took a few tomes from the dead man’s library. An eightieth edition _Lectitio Divinitatus_ by Lorgar Aurelian caught his eye as well as a much heavier book _Ancient Arcana and Wicha_. The Acolyte bemusedly worked through them while the butler type shooed out the other two cherubs. Pulling out a spare ink bottle from the elaborate desk near the large glass window. In a moment, he would slip through one of the panes and make his escape but the now was for preparation. Marahn-Marhna dipped his finger into the black ichor and walked over to the large wooden doors leading into the personal library. The same doors that the dead Kylax Andromidez faced from his chair.

Using whatever came to mind, the Acolyte squiggled symbols and runes that had no particular meaning what so ever. They were not meant to be interpreted but rather to set his pursuers off track when they found the nobleman dead. He made sure to embellish, drawing a large circle with the eight-pointed star of Chaos inside. In the middle, he drew a circular eye surrounded by flame. The Acolyte stepped back to admire his work and gave a nod of approval.

Checking one last time around the library, as his facial eyes roved over some of the top shelves the eye in his stomach looked through those in the bottom shelves. He finally settled on taking a few sector-subsector star maps and a small essay pamphlet labeled ‘Tyrrant Star’.

With all his work done, the Acolyte took his loot with him and slipped through the window. Out the large mansion he went, clawing his way along the sheer brick wall, wiggling down a pillar, and then silently making his way through the jungle that used to be Kylax Andromidez’s garden. Down on the beach further away, Mithra waited for him and together they made their way toward the Asylum of Saint Vero.

The building had multiple stories both above and below ground. Built in a circular pattern with branching structures and towers so that when one looked down from above it resembled a large sun with outlying rays. Sisters of the Order Hospitaller went about in light colored vestments, treating all who came into their care. But if they were anything like the Sisters of Battle Marahn-Marhna had witnessed before they were not to be underestimated. Neither were the Tempestus Scions, Imperial Guard Stormtroopers, that guarded whatever was buried beneath the asylum. Thankfully, Marahn-Marhna had found all he needed to enter and exit at will. All that was needed was to dispatch a few of the Stormtroopers and create a little chaos.

An airshaft dug in the side of the hill dropped down into the facilities below. Some pulled in air while others expelled used air. Those that were the latter had a pronounced amount of vegetation around them. While the designers and architects might have thought this was a good replacement for camouflage, it was also an easy way to spot them if one knew where to look. Thankfully the system required several levels of ducts to pull and push air from the Inquisitorial basement. That meant several layers of fans and maintenance walkways to access them. And they were, rather unsurprisingly, accessible from the air duct.

A few minutes of tinkering with the door and keying in the proper passcode, courtesy of the now dead Kalyx Andromidez, the underground was open to the two of them. Mithra Faust and Marahn-Marhna disappeared underneath the foliage of the jungle.

Through twisted metal mazes and dust infested tunnels they crept. The extra supplies were heavy but Marahn-Marhna was adamant they take the large bundles with them. They were crucial to their exit. Both heretics spent the next hours following the architectural lay out and dodging servitors that were busy repairing various parts of the air conditioning system. But before long they shuffled through a wall grate at floor level. Popping up in a bleach white hallway that had an elevator on one end and ending in to a perpendicular hallway. The only visible marks were of large black arrows indicating directions and various Imperial sigils painted in blackish brown. Everything reeked of dogma, cleaning fluids, and dried blood. There seemed to be a Vox broadcasting system that played the hymns of the Emperor in a low monotone.

Helping the noblewoman out of the work shaft, Marahn broke open one of the larger bundles to reveal two flamers. Unleashing another bundle revealed a small supply of holy promethium containers.

“What are those for?” Mithra asked, partly curious why flamers were crucial to the plan and partly wondering if she was going to get to use one of them.

The Acolyte smiled as he worked a container of promethium onto both arsonist weapons. “Well, this place is sealed up with defenses designed to keep heretical psykers and whatever else is down her in. There are only a few guards on this level and the cell blocks marked ‘for observation’ so I think the ones I want to find are here. If they aren’t we just hop ship and be out of here.”

“And if not who or what will we be taking with us?” The platinum blond quirked an eyebrow.

“A valuable ally.”

It appeared enough of an explanation for Mithra. “You still have not told me what the weapons are for.”

The Acolyte’s smile grew a little wider. “Fun fact, the more oxygen a flame has the more the color of said flame changes. If you add enough oxygen and reduce the soot enough, then it becomes a blueish color.”

“I learned that from a Scion specialist believe it or not.” Marahn looked up at Mithra as he lighted the pilot light. “But of course, any weapon that looks wrong or does not conform to doctrinal code is deemed heretical.”

Mithra frowned. “What happened to him? The Tempestus Scion?”

“A Commissar reported him to his Inquisitor and the man was sentenced receive the Emperor’s Mercy.” Marahn-Marhna’s face turned neutral as he stood and hefted one of the flamers, peering down it’s all but useless iron sight. “He was shot while kneeling before the Imperial Aquila and his body burned beyond recognition. Ready to go?”

Grabbing the other flamer that he offered her, Mithra nodded. “I follow you as I have sworn.”

“Then let’s commit some heresy.” The Acolyte grinned.

The deviant pair walked down the corridor and took a left, right, then another right. Their bag of spare promethium in the Acolyte’s hand. Their light civilian clothing would be not match to the Stormtrooper armaments but the Acolyte was counting on a bit more than surprise to get them out. A sudden clomping of boot indicated whenever a guard was near but the two of them were always out of sight. Unheard and unnoticed by the vigilant guardsmen.

“Be sure to cover our back.” Marahn-Marhna whispered. “If you see a guardsman, pull the trigger and scream as loudly as you can. Tap my back if you understand.”

Mithra nodded out of habit and patted her companion of the back. She had never killed another before but she also knew that if they were caught in this sublevel of the Asylum they would not be spared.

After two more left turns they came upon their last corner. Around the bend were a squad of four Scions guarding a set of sealed doors. The Acolyte held up five fingers for Mithra and counted down. When he reached one, Marahn-Marhna took a deep breath and screamed as high as his voice would go. Shoving away from the corner wall, he unleashed burning fury as he went. Blueish-yellow flames swirled against the walls and rushed toward the Imperial Stormtroopers. They barely had time to call out before being engulfed in the hellish inferno. Oxygen was sucked out of their lungs and the moisture in their mouths evaporated in seconds. All their gear was burnt or melted as the heated promethium consumed all. Those that were not killed outright by the heat were left to die of shock on the floor.

The Acolyte and Mithra strode past the former Stormtroopers. Licks of flam still writhed along the walls and floor, and eating away at the burnt corpses. Despite the fiery onslaught the door had remained unscathed and unnaturally cool to the touch. With a twist of the rotating wheel handles the locking bolts rolled back into the door and they stepped through. What greeted them was not what Mithra was expecting. Unnaturally white walls and incandescent bulbs mixed with the smell of blood and burnt skin. There was row upon row of cells, each bearing the same paint scheme as the walls. There was a master control switch near the side of the door that opened the first set of cells. A similar panel was on the front of the next block, out of reach of the occupants.

“Stay here.” Marahn commanded, spinning Mithra around so she faced the burning entrance. “And don’t look back until I tell you too.”

Mithra nodded and lifted the flamer, kneeling down rather than stand so she would not have to lift up her weapon.

Seeing his orders were received the Acolyte went about his business of checking each cell for what he wanted. The first few were as expected. Gibbering masses of flesh inside otherwise spotless cages. Then came several more humanoid shapes, some with extra appendages and others missing two or three. After that were people that better resembled humans and it was on the tenth cell in the block that Marahn-Marhna found who he wanted.

In the corner of the cell talking to himself was a three-eyed man. Tubes and wires popped in and out of his body. Nodes that were as numerous as liver spots dotted his skin. His third eye wiggled in his forehead as he mumbled on and on. Ever repeating the words “lost, lost, lost”.

He stuck a key in the lock and pulled the door away. “You are found my friend.”

“Friend?” The man asked from the corner, his emaciated body bobbed and shuddered with each breath. “What friends do I have in this place? Alone with the voices.”

Marahn-Marhna crouched next to the man, careful not to look him in the eyes. “Friends that come to take you away. Away from this place.”

“To the ocean?”

“Yes. To the ocean. For we would be lost without you.” Marahn-Marhna bowed his head slightly. “Will you come with us, to the ocean?”

“To the place of the lost we go, but never to return here? To this place of red and black?” He asked. “Of screams and spells?”

“No.” The Acolyte replied. “Never back to this place.”

“Then I will come with us. Us will take me to the bright ocean like promised. Where dark waters flow forever.” The man attempted to sit up but his muscles had grown weak.

Putting an arm under the him, Marahn-Marhna aided the man’s ascent to his feet. “What is your name friend?”

“Navigator Selaphiel Voyshiad, aged 31 Terran rotations, head 179 cm above feet on floor, does not want to others to know that weight has been reduced due to Inquisition purifying.” The navigator’s groan echoed from deep in his chest.

The Acolyte smiled. “Don’t worry, we friends will not tell. And I can promise you we will get your weight back from the Inquisition. I am Marahn-Marhna, the star-haired is my friend and yours as well. Us is with we.”

Selaphiel nodded his acknowledgement. “Friends with us.”

As one they shuffled out of the bleached cell and into the corridor. Animalistic moans and hisses heralded their exodus.

“Take me!” A desperate voice called after them.

Marahn-Marhna turned his head to see a man thoroughly marked by scarification and ritualistic tattoos reaching out through the walls of his cell. Eyes wide with pleading hope, bent and mangled fingers grasping in the air.

“Why?” Blue-grey eyes dissected the skinny man up and down.

The man stretched his scared face against the bars. “I can help you! I swear it on my soul just get me out of here! Please, I beg you!”

Marahn-Marhna gave Selaphiel his flamer to use as a crutch and walked over to the crying man’s cell. The occupant was almost as skinny as the navigator with tattered remains of robes and vestments. His black eyes were full of despair and days spent under the unmerciful hand of the Inquisition. Sweat had caked on his bald head and down his neck to his back.

The Acolyte jerked his chin. “Swear your soul to me.”

“I swear my soul.” He replied.

“Swear to me. Your name; your soul.” Marahn-Marhna hissed.

“I, Grinich Hyveron Kylos Phrondul Koatt Vayrus Hotatle Zalgier, former primary psyker assigned to the Gudrunite 335th Rifles, swear my life and my soul to you forever. Please, free me from this prison. Please.” Grinich looked seconds from breaking but held a firm face for preservation of his faith.

Dark wells stared back into hard shards of blue-grey. Air warped between the two as they studied each other. Two beasts of war circling one another. Measuring, and sizing the other up. Marahn walked calmly over to the psyker’s door, unlocked it and pulled it open. He took hold of Grinich’s shoulder and led him out.

“You do as I say, and if I think you are excessive or betray your oath I will end you personally.” He whispered in Grinich’s ear as he passed.

The two prisoners huddled against each other for support as the Acolyte retrieved his flamer. Before the foresworn family departed their prison Marahn-Marhna turned to flip the master switch. A shriek of metal resounded as all the first row of cells began to open slowly, occupants stirring at the sudden activity. Blue flame and faux screams were the Acolyte’s vanguard as the small group exited the cellblock. Marahn-Marhna in front with his flamer on its second container, Grinich and Selaphiel shuffling along in the middle, and Mithra as the rearguard with her own flamer at the ready. As quickly as possible they retraced their steps, shooting gouts of obstructing flame at any Temptestus Scion that neared their position. The famed Stormtroopers were met with terrifying walls of blue fire and those that were not killed outright heard an unnatural scream accompanying the mobile mass arsonist fury.

When they neared the wall vent Marahn-Marhna set aside his flamer and dropped the bag of excess promethium containers. From the last of the three large bags he pulled extra clothing that he threw to the navigator, psyker, and a pair to Mithra for them both. He then twisted the end of the now empty bag and sealed it with a know so there was a small pocket of air inside, and placed the bag in with the unused promethium. Unscrewing several lids from the containers, the Acolyte also pulled out an egg-shaped metal device with a very menacing ring pin attached to the top.

“Is that-?” Grinich began to ask.

“An Eldar plasma grenade, yes.” Marahn-Marhna answered without looking up from his work. “A little goodbye present for all the confused and hard assed Inquisitors who run this asylum.”

Tying a string around the grenade pin he carefully placed it in the two bags with the leaking promethium and shoved the whole packaged at the threshold of the elevator. He carefully made his way back to the group, an unwinding cord of sting in his hand. Like ghosts they disappeared behind the grate, setting it back in place as they left, and were gone.

Behind his comrades, Marahn-Marhna waited until they were a descent distance from the hallway before he tightened his grip on the string. There was a stretched tugging and then the string went slack. A few seconds later the catwalk they were on shuddered and it felt like a giant had taken a power hammer to the entire facility. The earth rumbled around them as dust began to shake loose and fog the air conditioning tunnels.

Four heretics clad in long robes climbed out through the door hidden in foliage. They mirrored the crowds around them and headed for the docks where a boat was waiting for them. Behind them smoke and dust mingled as they sped away over the waves toward the spaceport. By the time the Temptestus Scions had amassed in the halls of the underground Asylum to figure out what was going on they were too late. The guards could only speak of screams and blue flame. Not to mention there were now warp infected creatures roaming the halls.

Commanders and overseers were notified as the wheels of bureaucracy spun without traction. An earth-shattering rumble echoed on the horizon as an explosion like none before peeled through the tropical air. For those close to island no. 98, the island itself seemed to be suddenly engulfed in flame and dark clouds. Boulder sized rocks fell from the sky, raining down against anything alive or not for several miles. But the worst was yet to come.

The volcano, asleep and content for many years, had been angered by the sudden explosion. Beneath the rock shelves of Reth’s surface plates shifted and hot magma surged. The long slumber had ended and the great titan of island no. 98 was awakened in its full fury.

As the Acolyte boarded the surface to void transport he felt the shockwave curl underneath his feet. He smiled with small satisfaction. Everything had gone better than he had planned as they even had a new member to add to their growing faction.

Marahn-Marhna looked up to wave at Sabrina Paxrin as she and Mithra hugged each other. Grinich was already through the inspection gate with Selaphiel with Marahn-Marhna coming in behind them. The small craft would take them to the void where they were to board an armed freighter named _Holy Servant_. From then on it would be relatively easy to seize hold of the isolated community.

The Acolyte smiled. _Almost too easy._

 

**_As the Master has commanded me, I will go forth. I shall seek the Acolyte and serve him. He shall be my chosen Champion and I shall be his Herald. As the Prince wills, so it shall be._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few suggested songs:
> 
> Bartholomew- The Silent Comedy  
> I'm so Sorry- Imagine Dragons  
> Eyes on Fire- Blue Foundation  
> Fitzpleasure- Alt-J  
> The Winter- Balmorhea  
> Bowsprit- Balmorhea  
> Below the Hurricane- Blitzzen Trapper  
> Hey Mama (Distro REMIX)- by Nicki Manaj and Afrojack  
> If I had a Heart- Fever Ray  
> Dog Days are Over- Florence + Machine  
> Apollo 69- Goblins from Mars  
> Karma (hardline)- Jamie N Commons  
> And of course, We will Rock You- Queen


End file.
